


Welcome to My Nightmare

by Disasteriffic_Kaz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Caring, Case Fic, Gen, Hallucifer, Hurt Sam, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-04-18
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:19:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disasteriffic_Kaz/pseuds/Disasteriffic_Kaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchester boys are drawn to an abandoned Faire in the Virginia forest and, as usual, things do not go as planned. post 7x08 "s7 Time for a wedding" hurt/awesome!Sam/Dean</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one is loosely inspired by a prompt from Jenjoremy who asked for Sam's hallucinations to cause him to ignore something important believing it to not be real and for Dina SPN who gave me a nudge, asked for hurt!sam and reminded me it had been a whole week since I posted anything. :D Thank you ladies!
> 
> Beta'd by the always awesome JaniceC678 :D– Friend and Muse's co-conspirator.
> 
> **Follow me on Facebook as "Disasteriffic Kaz" for frequent fic updates or just to chat!  
> ~Reviews are Love~

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_Welcome to my nightmare_  
I think you're gonna like it  
I think you're gonna feel you belong  
We sweat and laugh and scream here  
'Cause life is just a dream here  
You know inside you feel right at home here

_~Alice Cooper_

_**Chapter 1** _

The early morning wind blew through the tall grasses, shifting and waving them in the darkness before the dawn and making every shadow look like something alive and twisting. A whistling trill of a roar floated out over the trees and small field, and the woman crawling through those long grasses shuddered and whimpered.

"No," she whined and pulled herself along faster toward the overgrown footbridge. She only needed to get out; just another half a mile to her car…maybe a mile. She crawled, ignoring the feel of the wet grasses slapping her face, the squelch of mud beneath her elbows and knees, and insects that crawled up to run across her neck and face. Her own breathing was a roar in her ears, louder than everything around her, but she couldn't stop it, not even knowing she was being stalked. She cried. Tears ran down her cheeks to drip off her jaw as she reached the footbridge and reached up to hold onto the aged, rotting wood. She refused to look back at her legs and see it again…the blood. It made it hurt even more if she looked.

She tried to pull her resisting body up and stand, but her legs were no longer able to obey her commands and she tumbled down onto the bridge with a thump, listening the wood creak under her weight, and the whistling growl grew louder and nearer. Her sobs grew louder too, great breaths hitching in and out of her chest as she tugged her body along the bridge, oblivious to the splinters embedding into her flesh through her clothes. She wouldn't go back there to that…charnel house. The image of her friends' bodies flashed unbidden into her mind, hanging and bloodied, and she collapsed to the footbridge, suddenly unable to move for the great, heaving sobs breaking out of her.

The whistling grew louder. It came closer with the sound of heavy footfalls moving quickly through the grass and weeds. She forced herself to move, pulling her body along the bridge one inch at a time and then it was there. She felt it's hot, rancid breath on her back and closed her eyes.

"No," she whispered. Her scream carried out over the empty little village as long claws sank into her back and dragged her from the bridge into the darkness.

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Sam woke in a sweat with a choked gasp and looked wildly over to his left, only taking in a shuddering breath when he saw the familiar bulk of his brother under the blanket in the next bed. He laid his head back and tried to calm his own breathing to hear Dean's instead. Dean would no doubt tease him mercilessly if he knew that, sometimes, just listening to him breathe was comforting enough to let Sam sleep.

"Not co-dependent at all, huh, Sammy?" Lucifer's soft, amused voice came from the foot of his bed.

Sam jerked up to see the devil sitting there smiling and shaking his head, and his calmer breathing sped back up as he grabbed his left hand and dug his thumbnail into the scar there. In his mind, he chanted 'stone number one' over and over while he dug into his own skin, and, finally, as the pain rose and he felt the unmistakable sensation of blood, Lucifer's voice went silent. Sam opened his eyes to see that he'd gone and heaved out a breath.

"S'mmy?" Dean's voice slurred and he rolled to his back, turning his head to find his little brother sitting up and unsure what it was that had woken him up. "S'goin' on?"

"Nothing," Sam said quickly and flipped the blanket off his legs. He stood, trying to keep his now bleeding hand out of his brother's line of sight and was grateful Dean was still half-asleep or he'd never have succeeded. "Didn't mean to wake you."

Dean watched blurrily as Sam went to the bathroom and shut the door. He frowned and dropped his head back to the pillow. He sorted back through what he remembered as he'd woken up and realized it now it had been the sound of a whimper, his brother's voice, nearly silent, that had snapped him awake. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and looked at the clock; almost six in the morning. He groaned and pushed up so he was sitting. Sam was certainly not going back to sleep, Dean was sure that the devil in his head had woken him again. He reached over and turned on the light, then swung his legs over to the floor.

"What the…" Dean felt something wet and cooling on the sole of his bare foot. He brought it up, bending his knee to look and his heart climbed into his throat seeing that it was blood, Sam's blood. He jerked up off the bed and didn't bother knocking, shoving the bathroom door open instead to find Sam pale and hunched over the sink, running water over his hand as he looked up at Dean in surprise.

"Dean, what…"

"Show me," Dean said in a voice that warned he wasn't going to argue about it and took hold of Sam's left hand at the wrist when he held it out. He turned the palm up to the light and saw the half-moon shaped wound in the center of the curved scar still seeping blood. He clenched his teeth to avoid yelling and let go of his brother's hand so he could finish cleaning it. "Thought you said you had a handle on this, Sammy?" he asked instead, softly and still his brother shoulders flinched.

"I do, alright?" Sam sighed. "When I'm awake. I was sleeping. It's…I'm ok."

Dean ground his teeth together, nodded, and left him to it. He went back out and pulled his bag out from under the bed, pulling out the first aid kit with the sure knowledge that it was his time drugged and tied up by Becky that had weakened Sam's control. He had a roll of gauze and the disinfectant ready when Sam came back out. "Sit." He couldn't really yell at him for wounding himself. Dean was the one who had pointed out to him that real pain was different, that it could anchor him in reality. It worked, and he'd just have to make sure Sam didn't maim himself while he was at it.

Sam sat on the side of his bed and held his hand out; forcibly reminded of sitting in Bobby's living room while Dean had done just this, only with whiskey, not so long ago. He hissed in a breath as the disinfectant stung and then Dean was wrapping gauze around his hand. "Thanks, Dean."

Dean nodded and tucked in the edges of the gauze. He set the kit aside and pulled some clothes out of his bag, heading to the bathroom. "See if you can find us a job." He closed the bathroom door and rested his forehead against it for a minute before finally standing back and stripping off his sweats to get dressed. Sam's cracked head scared him. It terrified him because he didn't know how much longer his little brother could go on dancing with the damn devil in his head before he couldn't hold on anymore. An involuntary snarl curled his mouth as he thought of Castiel and how he'd betrayed them. Crashing down Sam's wall was something he wasn't sure he would ever find a way to forgive him for, and, frankly, at that point, he didn't care. Cas was gone and Dean was left to pick up the pieces. He pulled on his jeans and then a clean shirt and straightened his shoulders, looking at himself in the mirror. That was his job, take care of Sam, and he was damn well gonna keep doing it until they were dead.

Sam booted up the laptop and took a few breaths to settle his nerves. He glanced up when the bathroom door opened and was glad his brother looked a little calmer. Sam had almost been able to hear his teeth grinding together. "Breakfast?"

"Naw, still too early." Dean pulled his jacket off the other chair and slipped it on. "I'll go find us some coffee and donuts. You find us something to gank."

"I will." Sam pulled up a browser and his favorite news site to look for the strange and unusual, articles that typically turned up their sort of job. He needed to find something to take both their minds off…well, off of him. He shook his head and started scanning the articles for something.

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Dean shoved the last of the cleaning kit into the weapons bag along with the now pristine sawed-off shotgun and zipped it closed. "Find anything?" He was antsy to get moving. Of course, that might just be the jumbo coffee with the two shots of espresso talking and he smirked at himself.

"Actually, yeah." Sam pushed away the half-eaten donut in front of him. "I think we've got a wendigo in Virginia." He leaned back and picked up his cooling coffee instead. "Empty stretch of forest, people gone missing, some hikers who've come out with what look like wild animal injuries but stories about something big, fast, and weird looking."

"Sounds like it." Dean did a mental inventory of how many charges they had for the flare guns in the trunk. "We'll stop somewhere on the way and grab some more flares. Any idea where it might be hiding the larder?" He asked, as wendigos stored their victims for later eating.

Sam nodded. "Believe it or not, there's a whole abandoned, medieval village in that forest." He chuckled at the look on Dean's face. "It's a failed Renaissance Faire. They closed the doors in…" He leaned forward to look at the screen. "…'99, and the whole place is being taken back by nature." Sam smirked. "The pirate ship's still there on the lake, according to this."

"Pirate ship?" Dean looked up and grinned. "Dude. Bring the rum."

Sam chuckled. "Gets better. The old faire grounds are off the King's highway and smack in the middle of, get this, Sherwood Forest."

"Like Robin Hood Sherwood? Come on." Dean shook his head.

"Seriously. It's like the place was made for a Ren Faire. Too bad it failed." Sam shrugged. "Odds are the wendigo's storing its victims in one of the old buildings there."

"Sounds good. Let's roll." Dean grabbed up the weapons bag and headed for the door. He took a long look at his brother while Sam wasn't paying attention and nodded, going outside. He looked better than he had a couple hours before when Dean had woken up. He still had those dark circles under his eyes, but he didn't look haunted, at least for the moment, and he'd take it.

Several hours down the road, Dean had spotted a sporting goods store and pulled in to stock up on flares. He still remembered their first encounter with a wendigo, and it had made him determined to never have to face one again with only two flares between them. He strode down the aisles with Sam at his back and listened absently to his brother on the phone with the police in Fredericksburg, the town closest to the abandoned faire. Dean left him poking around the shoe department hopelessly and headed for the hunting section with a chuckle. His gigantor of a little brother rarely found shoes in places like this. They just didn't come in riverboat size.

"Help ya, sir?"

Dean looked up and smiled briefly at the bearded man behind the counter. "Yeah. Need some charges for an Orion 12 gauge flare."

"Gotcher right here, son," The man who was clearly older than he looked behind that bushy black beard waved Dean over to the other side of the counter. "Stockin' up yer boat?"

"Something like that," Dean smirked.

"Y'now they got a new model comin' out next year." The clerk put a box of flare charges on the counter and winked at Dean. "S'posed to be double barrel, single or double fire."

Dean only barely stopped himself from drooling and grinned. "Next year, huh?"

The clerk nodded. "Happens I know a guy. You back this way next June, you stop in. I'll 'member ya."

Dean chuckled. "I bet you would too." He dug in his pocket for cash rather than the fake credit card he'd been planning on. If he had his way, he would come back through next year and pick up a couple new toys and wanted this man to remember him without cussing. He grabbed the box and gave the man a nod and a smile in thanks. Dean headed back toward the shoe section, looking for his brother.

"Sam?" Dean called and looked over the aisles and boxes but saw no sign of his overtall brother. He stopped an employee. "Hey, you see a guy in here, tall like a freak?"

The employee, a boy who looked barely twenty smiled and nodded. "Yeah, I saw him. Saw him headin' toward the back there too." He pointed out over the store to the back wall.

"What'd he go back there for?" Dean frowned and put a hand in his pocket for his phone.

The kid shrugged. "Don't know, but he was following Larry. The shoe guy? Maybe they're tryin' to find something to fit your friend in the back."

"Right. Thanks, kid." Dean was already striding away to the back of the store and the stock room door he could just see over the shelves. He wasn't sure why, but his gut told him something was off, either with Sam or with the man he'd followed, and he put his phone back, pulling out the flask filled with borax instead. It would be just their luck to stumble on a leviathan in a damn sporting goods store. He pushed open the door into the store room quietly and slipped inside, then stood and listened. He didn't hear anything and started walking down the aisle of ten foot shelves, looking between each as he went.

"Sam?" Dean said in surprise when Sam came out from the shelves a few rows down. "What the hell are you doing back here?"

Sam looked up at him and shrugged. "The shoe guy wanted to show me something."

"Well, come on already. I got the flares." Dean rolled his eyes and turned away. "We'll pick you up some heels on the next stop." He took exactly two steps before his brain registered something…wrong. He narrowed his eyes, trying to decide what it was and then it struck him. Sam had been walking hunched ever since his wall fell, like he was being crushed under some great weight, but the Sam behind him was standing straight. It was such a small thing, but it was enough. Dean popped the top on the flask and grunted as Sam's arm wrapped around his neck and he was hauled back.

"Too slow." Sam…the thing that looked like Sam…said cheerfully in his ear.

Dean snarled and tried to free himself, groaning in discomfort as his arm was hauled up behind him as the flare box and the flask fell to the floor with a clatter. "Where's my brother? And what the hell are you?"

"That would be telling." Sam chuckled and forced Dean's head back further, beginning to cut off his air.

"Where…where is he?" Dean demanded even as he choked for air. Whatever it was, it was stronger than a human and holding him fast. He fought to get his one free hand to his back and his gun with Sam laughing in his ear and tensed as he heard another sound. It had been soft, the slight scuff of a shoe on stone, and the thing holding him had missed it or just didn't care. Worried that it was another, he fought harder to reach his gun. He was stuck with his head practically on not-Sam's shoulder, staring up at the lights above. The thing holding him screamed suddenly, and, even knowing it wasn't Sam, the sound was jarring to his nerves, hearing that sound from his brother's throat. The grip around his neck left and Dean stumbled forward. He spun, coughing, and pulled his gun to find Sam…standing over Sam.

"Shifter." Sam told his big brother and held up a small silver knife he kept in his boot. In front of him, the shifter copy of himself fell to its stomach with blood spreading from the stab wound on its back over its heart that Sam had put there. "You alright?"

Dean stared between them, eyeing the Sam still standing critically for just a moment and then he nodded in relief. "Yeah. I'm…dude, what the hell happened?" He put his gun up and rubbed his sore arm and then his throat.

Sam shook his head and swayed a little, catching himself on a shelf. "I was on the phone with the cops, looked over, and I saw him touch a silver buckle on one of the shoes and jerk his hand back."

"Burned him," Dean said and went to his brother, stepping over the body.

Sam nodded. "Followed him back here to find out what he was, and, uh…got the jump on me and cracked me over the head with something."

Sam looked truly disgusted with that fact and Dean didn't blame him. "Come here."

"Took me a couple minutes, but, when I could, you know, stand up again…he was gone and there was this pile of goo next to me." Sam hissed in a breath as Dean's fingers found the lump on the back of his head. "Knew he'd changed his appearance." He snorted. "I wasn't expecting you to come in and play hostage."

"Shut up." Dean growled but without any real heat, far too relieved to have them both in one piece. He looked down at the body, at a corpse that was his brother's likeness, and allowed himself a shudder. It was a visual he would never be alright with, no matter the circumstances; not since Cold Oak even all these years later. He resisted the urge to pull his brother into a hug and slapped the back of his shoulder instead. "Come on. Let's drag him out back before someone walks in here."

"Door's back there." Sam pointed over his shoulder and held a hand to his aching head. "You get the flares?"

Dean nodded and bent to collect the box and his flask from the small puddle of borax. "Yeah, we're good."

"Wonder what happened to the guy he was wearing before?" Sam said sadly.

"Larry. Kid out there told me." Dean didn't bother rolling the shifter over, not wanting to see his brother's dead face. He put his hands under his shoulders and started dragging him back toward the door. "Get his legs this'll go faster."

"Yeah." Sam bent, ignoring his pounding head and picked up the creature's legs, trying very hard not to be squeamish about the fact he was essentially carrying his own body. He suddenly wondered if this was how Dean had felt when he'd had to shoot himself, or rather a shifter wearing him, like the edges of reality were blurred. He shook his head, smiled at the look of concern on his brother's face and purposefully stopped thinking about it as they carried the body.

They got in the car finally, after ten minutes of carrying the shifter's body and a nerve-wracking decision to leave Sam with it while Dean went for the car and brought it around the building. Dean got behind the wheel, body safely stuffed in the trunk, and for the hundredth time missed his Impala. The Charger irritated him every time he started the engine and it just sounded…wrong. "Gotta find a place to dump this thing and burn it where we won't get busted."

"Shouldn't be too hard. It's mostly mountain and forest around here," Sam pointed out as they hit the road again. He leaned his aching head back on the seat and groaned, rolling his head into the window instead as the lump he'd taken pounded at him. "Feels like he hit me with a compact car."

Dean snorted and looked over, keeping an eye on him. A head injury, even if it didn't bleed, wasn't anything to take lightly, and they made him particularly nervous when it came to his brother for obvious reasons. The last thing Sam needed was more damage to his head. "Get some sleep. I'll wake you up when I find somewhere to take care of our buddy back there."

Sam nodded, closing his eyes against the weak sunlight filtering through the clouds and was more than happy to try and catch up on the sleep he'd lost. He smiled slightly when Dean turned the radio on but kept it low so it would play in the background, a subtle attempt to give his mind something to focus on other than the hell spilling out inside it. He sighed and let sleep take him.

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_To Be Continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2** _

Sam woke with a start, realizing that the car wasn't moving anymore and lifted his head to look around, momentarily worried when he saw his brother wasn't in the car. He relaxed when he saw Dean out the windshield. They were on some dirt road in heavy forest and Dean was twenty yards or so ahead standing over a ditch with flames dancing in front of him in the late morning sun.

"Damn." Sam wiped a hand over his face, surprised he'd slept through Dean stopping and dragging the body out of the trunk. He climbed out of the car and held his head for a moment while the splitting headache made a return.

"You gonna live?" Dean called. He'd been keeping one eye on the car and his brother and had seen him wake up. He smirked when Sam flipped him off.

"Where are we?" Sam walked over and looked down at the quickly collapsing remains of the shifter.

"'bout a half-hour out of Fredericksburg." Dean hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Abandoned faire is about three miles that-a-way." He looked over at his brother and considered. "Breakfast and motel first or you just wanna go have a look?"

Sam thought about it, ran his tongue over his teeth and grimaced. "Coffee and a toothbrush."

Dean chuckled. "Ok, come on. He's toasted enough now." He gave his brother a nudge back in the direction of the car, more than anxious to leave the blackened and burned corpse behind. He would never admit to anyone how shaky his hands had gotten while actually salting the thing wearing his brother's likeness and dropping the lighted flame in and watching as…nope. That image was getting quickly shoved into that way-too-crowded locked closet at the back of his mind with the rest of the extra-horrible horrors he never wanted to think about ever again. He opened the driver's door and looked up as a faint sound, like a whistling of pipes, carried through the trees.

"Dean?" Sam asked, seeing him staring off into the forest at the sound. "Someone's wind chimes, dude."

"Yeah, probably." Dean shrugged and climbed behind the wheel. He left the merrily burning remains behind with a lighter heart and figured Sam was going to have to deal with him sticking closer than normal after that.

Fredericksburg was bigger than Dean had expected and he stayed to the outskirts, looking for a motel. He'd kept an eye out all the way in, hoping to find one closer to Sherwood Forest and the faire, but there'd been nothing. It was actually a fairly lonely stretch of road between the two. He spotted a neon sign for the Nightstalker Hotel and wondered what idiot had come up with that name as he turned in.

"Sammy." Dean nudged his brother and pointed when Sam rolled his head up from the window. "Check this place out."

Sam stared at the sign and snorted. "Seriously? Someone was drunk when they came up with that."

Dean parked in front of the office and waved at him. "I'll get us a room."

Sam let him go, content to keep his aching head down. He ran a hand over the lump on the back of his head and groaned. The sunlight wasn't helping and he knew he needed to suck it up; they had a job to do and people were dying. He wasn't about to give Dean a reason to leave him behind. Sam pushed up in the seat to sit straighter when Dean came out and got back in. "Don't suppose they're full up?"

Dean chuckled and tossed him a room key. "Nope. We're in twelve. Apparently, this place hasn't done much business since the faire closed."

"Can't imagine why." Sam rolled his eyes. "They must have been catering to the creepy faire crowd."

"I like Ren Faires."

Sam slid a look over at him as Dean pulled the car down the long building and raised a brow. "You? Seriously?"

Dean nodded and grinned. "Do you know how many hot chicks in corsets go to those things?"

Sam laughed and shook his head. "Somehow I knew it wasn't the whole cultural thing."

"There's culture at a Ren Faire?" Dean smirked at his brother's disgusted snort and pulled up in front of their room. "Come on. Let's get set up and head out." He climbed out of the car and watched Sam as he got out. "How's your head?"

Sam snorted. "Sore; and no, I don't need a nap." He went to the room and opened the door leaving his brother to get the bags and his mouth dropped open. "Whoa." The walls were black with blood red borders. The beds were covered in black and red paisley spreads and even the carpet was black while all the furniture was wrought iron and the three paintings on the walls were romanticized images of vampires and hot, busty victims.

"Jesus! Did Twilight throw up in here?" Dean exclaimed as he came through the door behind Sam and got a good look at the room. He tossed the bags on the near bed and groaned. "Turn the lights back off. I can feel my way around."

Sam chuckled and pulled open the weapons bag. "It's not that bad. Remember that place in, what was it…Nebraska?" He took out the container of salt and went to the window. "All those little fairies dancing on the walls."

Dean shivered dramatically. "Ok, yeah. That was creepier."

"Make yourself useful," Sam smirked and tossed his brother a black Sharpie.

"Yeah, yeah." Dean went to the door and looked at the black, painted woodwork and rolled his eyes. "Maybe we'll get lucky and gank the wendigo today. Won't have to actually sleep in this screwball room."

Sam laughed, finishing the salt line on the window and went to the bathroom, seeing a square of light on the door from a small window there. He turned on the light and sighed, seeing the gothic motif carried in there as well. He lined the ledge of the small window and went back out to do the door. "Window in the bathroom, too."

Dean nodded. "Finish this and we'll get movin'." He went to the bathroom, sneering at the black and red décor and leaned up to draw more protective sigils on and around the tiny window. Not for the first time, he wished they had such a thing to use against leviathans.

Sam tossed the salt back in the weapons bag and forced himself to ignore the whistling devil in the corner. He didn't have the heart to tell his brother that Lucifer's presence was a near constant. It wouldn't do either of them any good for him to know. Sam knew what was real. He reassured himself of that with a quick press to his bandaged left hand before he straightened and shouldered the bag. The headache from the hit he'd taken was pounding at him but it, too, was ignorable.

"We ready?" Sam asked him as Dean came back out.

"Yeah. Let's shag ass out to this park and gank this thing." Dean went for the door and tugged the heavy bag off his brother's shoulder as he passed with a roll of his eyes and opened the door. "I do not wanna have to sleep in this freaky ass room tonight."

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Dean parked off the road over half a mile from the abandoned Renaissance Faire. The road had been long blocked off with a barricade, so he eased the car behind a stand of trees off to the side. Sam climbed out and looked around the dense forest.

"Is that another car?" Sam asked and pointed to a splash of red through the trees.

Dean strode over through the trees with Sam next to him and took a look at the small, red Nova sitting there. He put a hand on the hood and frowned. "Engine's cold. It's been here a while." He ran a finger through the dew collected on the body. "Overnight at least."

"Damn. Someone else might be in there. Hurt, or worse." Sam sighed sadly when he wiped dew from the back window and saw the carefully rolled up pink sleeping bag. "It's a woman."

Dean growled and headed back to the car. "She might still be alive. Wendigo's store their food. If she didn't piss it off…"

Sam nodded, taking the hollow hope as they pulled flare guns and machetes from the trunk. He grabbed a flashlight and handed another to Dean. "We've still got four or five hours until nightfall, but…"

"Better safe than sorry." Dean nodded and pocketed the flashlight. "Let's hope we don't have too many buildings to go through."

"Most of them are small and run down." Sam stepped back as Dean shut the trunk and started for the narrow, overgrown path to the old faire. "My money's on the pirate ship. It's still intact. Plenty of room in the hull."

Dean smirked as he strode beside him but kept his eyes on the forest around them. "Arr, matey!"

Sam chuckled. "Please tell me you're not gonna talk 'pirate' the whole time we're here?"

"Watch it, landlubber!" Dean snorted, glancing over at him and was relieved to see the joking had brought an easy smile to Sam's face. It didn't happen often anymore. They continued the walk in silence, senses alert for any sound out of place. Wendigos liked to toy with their prey, mimicking human voices. The ground beneath their feet began to soften after a half hour of walking, becoming wet and spongy, and Dean was glad he had boots on. He looked over and rolled his eyes as Sam stepped in a particularly wet spot and shook out his sneaker.

"Shut up," Sam said without even looking over and heard Dean's snort of laughter. He shook his foot and groaned softly in frustration as the cold water seeped into his socks.

"I ain't pickin' ticks off you later, dumbass. Should'a worn boots." Dean chuckled and took the lead.

Sam's head jerked up. "Ticks? No way."

"Yes way, Ted!" Dean said and laughed again as Sam rolled his eyes at the movie reference. "This area's lousy with them."

"Aw, for…dammit!" Sam suddenly felt his skin crawling and rubbed a hand over his face as he followed his brother. The soft, low chuckle behind him made his shoulders twitch, but he ignored it. They couldn't afford for him to lose his marbles on a job, not with a wendigo on the loose. He checked his flare gun and patted the extra charges in his pocket and caught up to his brother.

Dean ducked under a low hanging branch, eyes following the fading path of many feet in the soft ground from people coming and going to explore the ruins and shook his head. People should be more damn afraid of places like that - derelict, lonely, and a perfect place for evil shit to eat you. He saw a wooden structure peak through a screen of bushes ahead and put a hand out to the rough rail of an old footbridge. It turned sharply ahead into the trees and out of sight. "Wasn't the other end of this in some of those pictures you turned up?"

Sam pushed through the bushes and onto the bridge. "Yeah. Leads right into the old faire grounds." He jumped up and down a couple times and raised a brow at the creaking wood bending beneath his weight. He looked over at his brother and raised the other brow. "Maybe we should go across one at a time. You have been hittin' the pie kind of heavy lately."

Dean's face darkened and he strode onto the footbridge quickly, slapping Sam up the back of the head as he passed him. "Bitch."

Sam chuckled, rubbing over the goose egg Dean had nailed perfectly while the pain crossed his eyes for a moment. It had been worth it. "Jerk."

"Shuddup." Dean rubbed a hand over his still flat stomach with a smirk. "Pie's a food group." He did keep to the side of the footbridge as the boards creaked and groaned under him and waited until Sam was at his back before he made the first turn into the trees, not wanting to lose sight of him with a wendigo in the area. It turned again, and the trees opened up slightly, showing the end of the bridge.

Sam moved across the bridge, stepping over rotted boards in the center and frowned. "Dean."

"Yeah, I see it." Dean walked cautiously to the end of the bridge and looked down. There were splashes of blood on the wood and the grass beyond as well as drag marks in the wet earth. "Not lookin' good for our missing Nova owner."

Sam nodded and tightened his grip on the flare gun as he stepped off the bridge and into the edge of a large clearing. He smiled a little in spite of the situation. It looked like a small, medieval village, but one that had been designed by Lewis Carroll. The tallest of the houses rose up five stories from a small first floor and each floor widening as it went. It looked like it should topple under its own weight at any moment. Smaller house extended out from it in a ring with young trees beginning to grow up around them, and off to their left was a small lake with the hulk of the pirate ship still sitting in the shallows.

"Huh. That wasn't in any of the pictures." Sam pointed beyond the empty spars of the ship to what looked like a small, stone castle and round tower on the other side of the lake.

Dean rolled his shoulders and had the sudden, distinct impression they were no longer alone. "Drag marks go off into those buildings. We'll work our way around to it."

Sam followed his brother across the clearing and tugged at the collar of his shirts. The late day sun beat down in the clearing, and the slight chill that had held in the woods gave way to a sticky heat. His feet and Dean's sank into the grass, leaving shallow, water-filled tracks behind them. "The lake level must have risen after they built this. Probably part of the reason it didn't last."

Dean waved him silent as they neared the bulk of the leaning, five story building. It bothered him slightly that the door in the front was closed. Between vandals, hikers, and nature, he'd have figured it to be long off the hinges by now. He glanced back to watch Sam go wide around him, giving him a clear shot to the door, and Dean eased up next to it. He took out his flashlight, flicked it on, and gave the door a shove. It opened with a creak as the wood scuffed and scratched the floor beneath it until it hit the wall. He shone his light into the door, and his eyes took a moment to make sense of what he was seeing and then Dean swallowed hard and stepped back with a shake of his head.

"Nova owner," Dean said gruffly. "Think she pissed it off."

Sam took out his own light and went to the door. He aimed it inside and swallowed a couple times. The interior of the little room was bathed in blood. Sprays of it painted the walls, floor, and ceiling while a half-chewed leg sat in the middle of the floor, and, beyond it, a large black pack with pink trim spattered in the woman's blood.

"Dammit," Sam breathed sadly as he looked over the carnage. He'd never seen a wendigo tear someone apart like that, and he wondered if maybe she'd had a gun. "Maybe she shot it? We know that makes them angry."

"Sammy. That's not what happened. You're smarter than that, bunk buddy," Lucifer dropped down from the floor above through a small hole that had likely once held a ladder and knelt in a pool of congealing blood to grin at him. He took hold of the big toe on the severed leg. "This little piggy went to market…"

"Shit," Sam said softly while he quaked inside and looked around to see his brother moving toward the next house and unaware.

"Sam. Come on. You gotta pay better attention than this." Lucifer's voice wheedled at him.

Sam glanced back into the house, swallowing a lump in his throat as something long and dark uncurled sinuously from the ladder hole above the devil to wave down into the room like one of the chains he remembered only too well now. He looked again at Lucifer who was grinning at him and turned his back. He shoved his light back into his pocket and pressed furiously into the bandage on his left palm for control as he ignored the scratching sound behind him.

"Sam, get over here!" Dean called and turned to find his brother, pale and stiff-shouldered as he started to walk toward him, and he scowled when he saw Sam digging at the scar on his hand again. "Dammit."

"Coming," Sam called back and hoped his voice didn't shake as badly as he thought it had. The scraping behind him came more loudly with Lucifer's laughter over it and then another sound, like pipes whistling in the wind. He ignored it, not wanting to know what the devil had found to use as a musical instrument.

Dean checked behind him as his nerves twitched, looked back at his brother and felt his heart leap into his throat as a dark shape emerged from the empty window on the floor above his brother into the sun. "Sam! Look out!"

Sam's eyes snapped up to his brother's and saw Dean looking above him. He frowned and started to turn as Dean ran for him and grunted in surprise as something heavy slammed into his back. It knocked him into the ground and pressed his face into the wet grass as pain bloomed hot and vivid across his back, and the devil's laughter finally blew away on the sound of his brother screaming his name in a voice filled with panic.

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_To Be Continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3** _

Dean felt the moment their simple wendigo hunt went to hell as a creature he'd never even seen before emerged from the second floor to loom over Sam's unprotected back. "SAM!" He screamed it as the thing dropped down onto his brother's back and drove him into the mud. It was some sort of massive lion, or the body was at least. It pushed Sam's shoulders into the ground with a heavy, clawed foot that looked like it belonged on a bird. Its tail curled up, long and segmented like a scorpion's, over its back to wave over a head that was some sort of mutated caricature of a man's. It opened its mouth to reveal rows of jagged teeth and a strange, whistling roar like pipes came from its throat.

Dean aimed his flare gun and fired, knowing it was too much to hope for that it would kill the thing but maybe he could get it off his brother. The flare lodged inside the creature's mouth, burning brightly, and it screamed as it reared back off Sam, turned, and ran swiftly between the buildings into the trees and out of sight. Dean made himself wait, popping the gun open and shoving in a fresh charge from his pocket, watching the trees. Only when he was sure the thing wasn't circling back for another round did he go to his brother feeling his heart in his throat at the sight of Sam lying motionless, face down, with blood already seeping through his torn jacket.

"Sammy?" Dean dropped to the ground beside him, not caring as his knees splashed into the sodden grass. He set the flare gun down and took Sam's head, turning it gently so he could breathe something other than the watery ground. "Sam?" Dean leaned back and pulled up the back of his brother's shirts and jacket to glance beneath them and had to swallow hard at the three, long furrows torn in the skin. "Ok, buddy. That's…that's not that bad." Dean lowered them again and went back to his head as Sam moaned softly, and he finally allowed himself to take a deep breath, relief flooding through him at the quiet sound confirming that Sam was alive. "Sammy?"

Sam woke in confusion. The front of his body was wet and cold while his back was a morass of heat and pain. He coughed, spitting water and grass out of his mouth, and cracked his eyes open to find Dean kneeling beside him looking anything but calm. "Dean?" he rasped and bit back a cry of pain when he tried to pull his arms in and push himself up.

"Easy. Just…take it easy." Dean rested a shaking hand on the back of Sam's neck and checked the edge of the little village, but there was still no sign of the creature's return. "We gotta get out of here, dude. That means you have to get up."

Sam frowned. "Wendigo?"

Dean shook his head. "We were wrong. It's not a wendigo. I don't know what the hell it is, but…come on. We'll figure it out." He grabbed his flare gun, shoved it into his pocket, and helped Sam roll to his side, just holding on each time he had to stop and pant through the pain. Finally Dean got him up and on his feet though he swayed drunkenly and tried to hunch over. "Just hang on to me," Dean told him and pulled an arm across his shoulders, grimacing at Sam's hiss of agony.

Sam nodded. "I'm…what was it?"

"Don't worry about it." Dean pulled Sam into an unsteady gait toward the footbridge. Adrenaline still flooded his system, and Sam's labored breathing in his ear was the only thing keeping him from losing it, assuring him that his brother was alive. There had been just a moment when he'd been sure he'd lost Sam, having been too slow to react, and too damn arrogant just assuming that it was a wendigo. He kicked himself and steadied Sam as they started over the creaking wood. He felt Sam shiver as they left the hot sun and entered the chilled shade of the trees and knew it was worse for him with the entire front of his body soaked from lying in the grass. "How you doing?"

"Still…still here," Sam said softly through clenched teeth. Dean was the only thing holding him up. His knees wanted nothing more than to give out and he fought it, knowing that whatever had jumped him was still out there. "Why…why didn't it kill me?"

"'Cause I made it eat flare." Dean gave him a weak smirk and hitched his arm higher as they made the first turn on the bridge. "Didn't kill the damn thing, sadly. Think it's just off spitting magnesium somewhere." He pulled Sam into a faster walk as his nerves twitched again. He wanted Sam out of there until he could stand on his own again. Dean listened for even the softest sound, the faintest call of that thing's twisted, musical growl on the breeze, but it stayed blissfully quiet all the way to the car.

Sam looked up wearily in relief to find the car in front of him and somehow managed to get his arm to cooperate enough to open his own door. He let Dean ease him down into the seat and leaned forward to rest his head on the dash, rather than try and lean his wounded back into the seat. "Thanks."

Dean closed the door and ran around to the driver's side, yanking it open as the first whistling, musical roar went up in the distance. "Time to go." Dean got in and spun dirt into the air as he peeled away from faire and back out to the King's Highway. It took him twenty minutes longer than he liked to get back to town and the freaky motel, but finally he was pulling up outside and his worry went up another notch when Sam didn't even try to move on his own, just stayed where he was, leaning over the dash and waiting.

Sam wanted to get up on his own. He really did, but his legs felt like Jello and his back was on fire. It was too close to things too near the surface in his own mind for him to ignore, and he sighed gratefully when his door opened and his brother's hand dropped to the back of his neck.

"You ready?" Dean asked and got a small nod in return. "Ok." He pulled on Sam's right arm and used it, with an arm across his chest, to ease him up and out of the seat. Dean couldn't even begin to recall the number of times he'd been in this position, dragging his injured brother into one of countless low budget motel rooms, or been on the receiving end of the same treatment from Sam. He sighed, realizing he had almost become used to it by this point. It was just another crappy part of the job and their lives, but that didn't make it any easier for him to see his little brother in so much pain, no matter how many times it happened.

"Shit," Sam moaned and his vision whited out in pain when he tried to straighten. He came back to himself with his head planted on his brother's shoulder and blew out a breath as he picked his head back up. "Sorry."

"No problem," Dean smirked and got him walking toward the room. "I already knew you were a big girl." Sam settled for a disgusted look as speaking seemed like too much effort while he was trying to keep his feet moving. He dropped to sit on the side of his bed with a groan and didn't have the energy to protest when Dean started pulling his jacket off him and then his shirts. "What…what'd it look like?"

Dean worked hard not to be alarmed at the amount of blood saturating Sam's shirts and shook his head. "Uh, body of a lion, this freaky, scorpion-looking tail, and Herman Munster's head." He tugged the flannel off his brother carefully and tossed it aside. "Oh, and bird's feet. Dude, that is one ugly sum'bitch."

Sam frowned, thinking hard and then his eyes widened. "Think…I think I know…what it is. Laptop?"

"In a minute, geek." Dean shook his head, rolled his eyes and decided cutting Sam's undershirt off was going to be a lot less painful. "Stay."

Sam watched him jog back out of the room to the car and tried to pull his shirt off himself. He got as far as having it up under his arms and then slid off the bed to his knees when his head swam dangerously and pain scorched across his back.

"Dammit, Sammy," Dean snarled when he came back in and slapped the door shut. He tossed the first aid kit on his bed and went to his brother, stopping his slow face-plant into the side of the bed. "Can't leave you alone for a minute." He eased Sam back up onto his bed and rolled him carefully so he was lying on his stomach then bent over his head. "You still with me?" Sam gave a short nod, breathing hard through his nose and groaned softly.

Dean ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath just trying to settle himself before doing what he knew he had to, but hating that it was going to cause Sam more pain, and then grabbed the kit sitting next to him. He pulled the safety scissors out and sliced up the back of Sam's bloody, torn shirt and pulled the halves aside. Dean sucked in a breath. Even through the still sluggishly flowing blood, he could see the imprint of the creature's foot where it slammed Sam into the ground and stood on him. "Shit, Sammy."

"S'bad?" Sam slurred. Now that he was lying down on the soft bed with his head in the pillow, exhaustion was creeping up on him in spite of the pain.

"Naw, not as bad as it looks," Dean assured him and it was true. Sam was lucky he'd been wearing three damn layers or the creature would have opened him up down to his ribs with those claws. It didn't make it any easier to look at and know how he'd close he'd come. Dean scrubbed a hand over his face; how close he'd come twice just in the last damn twenty-four hours. "I gotta clean these. No telling what that thing has on its claws, dude." Dean sighed. "Better use holy water too, just in case."

Sam nodded, turned his head away and stuffed a corner of the pillow in his mouth. If he was right and the creature was what he thought it was, the holy water was going to feel a lot like molten metal on his skin.

Dean screwed the top off the mason jar of holy water with the rosary clinking lightly in the bottom and held it over Sam's back. "Take a breath." He watched Sam's back rise as he did what Dean said and then he let the water trickled out over the topmost scratch. Sam's body jolted as he muffled a cry into the pillow and Dean pulled the water back to rest a hand on his shoulder while his brother gasped. "Shit! Sammy?"

Sam spit the pillow out of his mouth and licked his lips. "S'ok…do it. Just…get it over with."

Dean scowled. He'd raised the idiot, so he could hear clearly in Sam's tone that he'd expected the reaction. "You could have warned me," he growled, took a deep breath for himself, and started pouring again. The holy water bubbled and hissed as it cleansed through the wounds and while Sam jerked and shook and cried out into his pillow, unable to keep it in. Dean watched him collapse into the bed when the water finally ran clear and put a shaking hand to his neck. "Sam?" Dean dropped his head on a sigh. Sam was unconscious.

"Ok, buddy. You're ok." Dean said it more to soothe himself than Sam and sat back up. He used the bottle of alcohol next, and Sam did little more than twitch once or twice and didn't wake again until Dean was tying off the last stitch to the deepest slash near his waist. Dean offered a quick thank you to whatever entity might be listening that Sam had stayed out through that painful process. He quickly taped bandages over the wounds while Sam stirred.

"Dean?" Sam rolled his head to find him and sighed when he felt the hand land on the back of his neck.

"Gotcha all mummified back here," Dean said with a smirk and easily read the pain in Sam's blue-green eyes. "You sit up long enough to take something?"

Sam nodded and put his left arm up, wrapping his hand around his brother's forearm and let Dean shuffle him around until he was sitting and wheezing in air. He pulled the remains of his undershirt off and let it drop. "Laptop."

"Dude…" Dean looked at him and the determined look on his face and rolled his eyes. "Fine."

Sam took a deep breath and struggled to his feet where he swayed once and then walked slowly over to the little table.

"Sam, what the hell? Lay back down!" Dean snarled when he came out of the bathroom with a glass of water and found his brother lowering himself down to one of the uncomfortable looking wrought-iron chairs at the table.

Sam shook his head and leaned his elbows on the table, taking some of the strain off his back. "Easier to research here than in the bed."

Dean set the glass and pain pills next to him and went back out to the car, pulling the laptop from the back seat. "Stupid, stubborn, pain in my ass," he grumbled as he went back in and glared at his very pale little brother sitting there shirtless with bandages covering his back. He breathed in and out a couple times for patience. "You sure you know what this is?"

Sam shrugged and hissed out a breath with the pain. "Crap. Uh…I think so." He took the laptop and booted it up. "Sounds like something I saw going through Bobby's books on…I think it was mythological creatures from Greece."

"Awesome." Dean picked up the bloody shirts from the floor and tossed them in the trash, figuring they were toast and grabbed the take-out menu from next to the phone. "Chinese or pizza?"

"Chinese." Sam pulled up a browser and tried to decide where best to look, completely uninterested in food as a low whistling started up behind him and he knew it wasn't Dean. He twisted a little in the chair, ratcheting up the pain in his back, and the whistling stopped as he blinked furiously to clear his vision.

Dean ordered food, checked the lines and finally drove down the street to pick up a few things and beer rather than listen to Sam's soft grunts of pain while he stubbornly stayed at the table. Night was falling in earnest as he got back, and the motel's neon sign glowed to life. He rolled his eyes. "Of course it's red." He snorted and parked. He found Sam where he'd left him at the table and dropped his bags next to him.

"Found it." Sam leaned back a little and turned the laptop. "It's a manticore." He rubbed a hand over his face and swallowed hard, trying to deal with the realization he'd come to and his fear of making the admission to his brother, but…he had to. "Dean." He glanced up at Dean where he bent over the table, scanning the laptop screen. "I saw it."

"Huh?" Dean straightened and grabbed a beer from the box. "Dude, it dropped you from behind."

"No. In the house." Sam took a deep breath. "I…I saw its tail, but…there was…" He blew out a breath and dropped his eyes, unable to look at him. "I thought I was…thought it was part of the…the hallucination. I ignored it." A cold wave of self-hatred blew through him because it could just as easily have gone after Dean instead. He could have gotten his brother killed because his grip on reality was shaky at best. "Dean…I'm sorry."

Dean stared at his brother's bowed head and went back and forth between anger at Sam not telling him he was having a hard time and anger at himself for not having a way to 'fix' him. "Sam…"

"You should, I dunno, call Bobby or something." Sam poked at the laptop. "You need backup you can trust. Killing it won't be easy. It…" he broke off and looked up when Dean grabbed his arm and gave him a shake.

"Shut up, Sam. Just…shut the hell up," Dean said angrily and looked at him, seeing the bags of sleeplessness under his eyes and the glimpse of hopelessness that showed out of them before Sam looked away. "The only damn thing you did wrong was not TELLIN' me you were seeing shit! Didn't we talk about this?" He shook his brother's arm again. "You tell me when you're goin' off the rails or I can't help. You talk to me, dammit!" It terrified him, the fear that he was losing Sam bit by bit every day. He felt the same hollow pit in his stomach he got when he'd seen the creature slam him into the ground.

Sam saw it all in Dean's eyes, as he had that day in the warehouse, and swallowed hard. "I'm sorry," he said softly and tried to get himself under control, realizing how close to tears he suddenly was. Sam blinked furiously, refusing to let them fall and nodded. "I didn't think it was that bad. I mean, it wasn't. I just…"

"You were trippin' the devil's ass so hard you ignored the thing trying to eat you. I get it." Dean took a breath, easing back off the anger because he knew how well that worked with his little brother. "You tell me next time so I don't just walk off and leave you to get…shit, Sam. I thought you were dead." He groaned and stalked away into the bathroom to cool off.

Sam rested his elbows back on the table and put his head in his hands feeling like crap for putting Dean through that again. He pulled his head back as he felt the painkillers start to work and pulled his laptop back around while the shower started up behind him. He needed to do his job and suck his pride back enough to not put his brother in danger again.

Dean emerged from the bathroom feeling less like screaming and rolled his eyes to find Sam still at the table but hunched over the laptop and clearly asleep. He smirked. "Painkillers kicked in, huh, genius?" He went to his brother and laid a hand on his bare shoulder. Sam hadn't even bothered to find a shirt and try to get it on, though he had kicked his wet shoes and socks off at least. "Sammy." He gave him a gentle shake, careful of his wounded back, and got a sleepy moan in return. "Bed. Come on, dude."

"S'good here," Sam mumbled, not really waking all the way up. The painkillers had made him loose and sleepy and dulled enough of the pain that he'd gone out without even realizing.

Dean snorted. "Nope. Bed, before you get the imprint of that keyboard in your face." He pulled and got Sam standing and swaying, still with his eyes closed, and managed to get him to his bed, making sure his little brother rolled onto his stomach rather than his back. He pulled the blanket out from under him and twitched it over while Sam wrapped both arms around his pillow and buried his face in it. Dean rubbed his hands through his hair and down his face. "Gonna be watching you a hell of a lot closer now, little brother," he murmured and shook his head as he went and took Sam's chair to look at what he'd found.

Dean debated a quick call to Bobby but opted against it; no need to worry the old guy when he was sure Bobby was plenty worried enough for both of them. He pulled up Sam's research instead and settled in to read and keep an eye on his brother.

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_To Be Continued…_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4** _

Sam woke with a gasp from a nightmare that felt like it was choking him and had been for a while. He snapped his eyes open, realizing that his brother's voice was close to yelling in his ears and he could feel hard hands shaking his shoulders.

"Sam! Dammit, wake up!"

Sam sucked in a frantic breath and then another into a chest that had become tight and slapped a hand out, wrapping it around his brother's forearm. "Dean."

"Shit." Dean dropped his head in relief and leaned back, holding on to Sam's shoulder while his brother tried to get his breath back. Sam's first muffled cry had woken him, and, by the second, he had the light on and was rolling him to his back and out of the pillow. It looked like he'd been suffocating in his own damn pillow while trapped in a bad dream.

"Couldn't breathe," Sam gasped and then grimaced as he realized how much his back hurt, lying on it. He rolled to his side, uncaring that he was curling around Dean's knees like he had as a child in search of comfort and just tried to stop the heaving, frantic breaths.

"No, shit." Dean rolled his eyes at his brother but didn't move. He leaned over to get a look at Sam's back and saw a few spots of blood on the bandages but nothing to really worry about it. "What the hell were you dreaming about, dude?"

Sam flinched and closed his eyes because it had been hell - the cage and Lucifer one of the times, too numerous to even wrap his mind around, that the devil had torn his lungs out and watched him slowly suffocate to death before bringing him back. "Nothing."

Dean scowled and squeezed his neck. "Nothing, my ass."

Sam opened his eyes enough to give an irritated glare up at him. "What are your nightmares about?"

Dean jerked his head back, opened his mouth and then closed it. "Fine. Never mind." He had an all new understanding for Sam's frustration, all those times after Dean had returned from hell and Sam had tried to get him to talk about it. There were no words to describe the experience that didn't involve blood, bone, agony, and soul-deep hopelessness and Sam's tour in the cage made his own look like a day trip…and yet he couldn't help but wish that Sam would talk to him. After all, who the hell else in the world could possibly understand the horrors in his head?

"Dean, I'm alright," Sam said softly when his brother's eyes had drifted away somewhere into the distance. "Just a…a bad dream, man." He managed a lopsided smile, or the ghost of one. "…and me with my face in the damn pillow. I'm good. Go back to sleep."

Dean pulled his eyes back to his brother and nodded. He patted his shoulder and stood. "It's about time to get up anyway." He glanced at his watch and it was nearly eight in the morning. "You want coffee? Of course you want coffee." He snorted when Sam gave him a disgusted face. He grabbed his bag and headed for the bathroom.

Sam watched him go and then dropped his head back to the pillow with a soft groan. He was almost thankful for how badly his back ached just then as it served to keep the devil from messing with him and he wasn't sure he could take it just then after such a visceral nightmare. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and with a few strangled moans, he managed to sit up on his own and then just leaned over with his elbows on his knees and breathed through it. He was still sitting there when Dean came out of the bathroom dressed. "You read my research?"

Dean eyed him in frustration and decided to pick his battles, seeing that Sam was in no mood to go back to sleep. "Yeah. You sure about that? 'Cause I was kinda hoping we could just plug ugly from a nice safe distance."

Sam snorted softly. "All the lore says the same thing. We need to kill it with one of its own spines."

"And it shoots them…" Dean raised a brow. "…out of that damn scorpion tail. See, this is where the plan starts to go sideways for me."

"We pissed it off. It's bound to try and shoot a couple at us." Sam looked up at him and then pushed slowly to his feet. He was grateful that, though Dean hovered, he let Sam get standing on his own. He desperately needed to feel less useless just then.

"I'm goin' for coffee. Try not to fall over while I'm gone." Dean went over and set the bottle of painkillers on the table next to the laptop, giving Sam a pointed look to take some and then left. He took his phone out as he got in the car and called Bobby. It wasn't that he didn't trust his brother's research skills but he really wanted a better way to kill the damn creature than having to let it come after them first.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean greeted the gruff, older Hunter's voice on the phone. "What do you know about manticores?"

"I thought you were after a wendigo?" Bobby said in surprise and immediately went into his study and the wall of books.

"So did I." Dean pulled out of the parking lot and headed down the road to the diner he'd scoped out earlier. "Sam's done some digging and found a way to gank it but uh…I don't like it much. Kinda hopin' you can come up with something better."

Bobby snorted. "You know damn well Sam's as good if not better at diggin' this crap up as me."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know. I just…Bobby it damn near killed him. He's…he's having trouble again."

Bobby sighed miserably, heart squeezing in sympathy for the kid he didn't know how to save and he was pretty sure Sam was in need of saving or would be soon. "He'll be fine," He said instead of the dozen questions he wanted to ask. "He hurt bad?"

"Some slashes on his back. He's alright and bein' his pissy self." Dean smirked.

"Manticore," Bobby said, changing the subject before it became uncomfortable. "Think the last time I heard of a Hunter tangling with one of them, it was in…think it was some Greek island, and he ain't huntin' anymore," he said it grimly. "Took some quills or something to the back and ended up paralyzed."

"You're not makin' me feel better about this, Bobby," Dean growled. "Sam says we have to stab the damn thing with its own quills to kill it."

"Balls," Bobby groaned. "I'll look, but, Dean…"

"Yeah, I know." Dean sighed and pulled into the diner. "Just…let me know." He hung up with Bobby's assurances and tried to get rid of the sinking feeling this job was giving him.

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Dean had been gone an hour when Sam realized he actually needed more sleep…wanted it. He looked over at his bed and shook his head, unwilling to risk another nightmare just then. He'd go without or grab a nap in the car on the way back to the faire grounds. He fully planned to convince Dean they were going back today to hunt the manticore. He couldn't get the image of the girl's leg out of his head or the concern for anyone else who'd stumble on the place and end up in pieces, eaten.

Sam leaned back from the chair and made a hesitant attempt at stretching his sore back. It ached and hurt, but it didn't take his breath away like it had the night before. He'd only taken one of the painkillers, rather than two, wanting to dull the pain but not take away the edge he was going to need to have his brother's back out there. He leaned back over the laptop, intent on finding some other way to kill the thing since Dean was so concerned about having to get close enough to stab it with its own quill, not to mention how they would have to get hold of one in the first place.

It struck him suddenly that it had been an hour and his brother had only gone to get coffee; maybe breakfast, but still…he knew Dean wouldn't just walk off for so long without a word, not with Sam wounded. He pulled his phone over and checked, but he hadn't missed a call or message while in the bathroom. He dialed Dean's phone and put it to his ear as he stood and went to the window to look out. It rang and went to voicemail.

"Dean? Hey, I just…call me back." Sam flipped his phone closed and resigned himself to being teased for worrying like a girl when his brother returned. He rubbed a hand over his face and really wanted that coffee. A quick glance around the room showed him it was missing the usual mini-coffeemaker most motel rooms came equipped with and he sighed. "Crap." He went to his bag and bent carefully to pull out clean jeans and a shirt, dressing as quickly as he was able. Sam scrawled a hasty note in case Dean beat him back, looked down at his bare feet and snorted. He just didn't feel like trying to bend over far enough to get his shoes on.

He left the room and walked the length of the motel to the office. Sam pushed the door open and blinked, stepping out of the sunlight and into the dimly lit interior. His vision cleared and he saw a man standing behind the desk. "Hi. Coffee?"

The clerk smiled and pointed to the back of the office. "I keep meaning to invest in some of those little coffeemakers for the rooms." He smiled at Sam. "Promise I make a damn good pot to make up for it, though."

"Great. Thanks." Sam smiled back and then turned to the big coffee machine, smiling widely as the aroma of fresh-brewed coffee reached his nose. He reached for the pot and a cup and poured it out. "Hey, do you have any creamer?"

"Ah, crap. Forgot to put it out. Just gimme a sec." The man smiled and went quickly in the back.

"Nice." Sam started tearing open packets of sugar and dumping them in, missing Dean's teasing over his shoulder for the amount he put in.

"Here you go."

Sam startled and jerked back as the clerk's voice came at his elbow. "Uh…thanks." It concerned him that the man had gotten so close without him realizing, and it made him jumpy. He took the small jug of creamer and poured it into his cup then backed away hastily, suddenly wanting to be away from a man who could so easily sneak up on him. "Thank you for the coffee."

"No problem. Pot's always on." The clerk watched him leave with a smile.

Sam stepped back out into the sunlight and shook his head. "Ok, that was weird," he muttered to himself as he walked back down to their room and debated even telling his brother how creepy the motel manager was. He snorted softly and let himself back in the room, but his concern for Dean went up another notch as the car was still gone and he hadn't called him back. "Dammit, Dean. Where the hell are you?" Sam sipped his coffee and had to admit, the manager did make a damn good cup.

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Dean parked the car and got out, balancing two coffee cups in one hand and a bag of breakfast burritos in the other. He knew he'd been gone too damn long and was still kicking himself for not charging his damn phone. Knowing Sam, he had a half-dozen missed calls, and he rolled his eyes as he shoved the bag under his arm and slid the room key into the lock.

"Hey, Sammy. Sorry." Dean grinned as he pushed the door open. "Dude, you should'a seen this waitress. She had…" The grin fell away on a snarl of instant rage at the sight that greeted him. Sam was on the floor and a strange man was standing over him with his hands under his brother's shoulders, picking him up off the floor. He dropped the coffees and bag outside the door and drew his gun, aiming steadily between the man's eyes. "Get the hell away from him. Now!"

"He…he called! Holy…look! I'm the manager, alright?" The man set Sam back to the floor and raised both hands. "He called the desk and said he wasn't feeling right, and…and…oh, God, don't kill me please!"

Dean watched his brother's head loll to the side and moved further into the room, flicking the muzzle of his gun to the side. "Door. Now. Move."

"I…we should call 911 or something, right?" The manager inched past Dean with wide eyes. "He looked a little, you know, pale when he came in…into the office for coffee."

"I'll handle it. Get out." Dean's patience had about two seconds left before he shot the guy and slammed the door closed. His attention was on Sam on the floor and the fact that he hadn't made a sound or moved.

"I was just trying to help." The manager stepped out of the room and Dean slammed the door and locked it on his scared face.

"Sam." Dean was at his side on his knees in an instant. "Sammy?" He put a hand to his neck and was relieved to feel his heart beating. Dean looked around the room but other than an overturned Styrofoam coffee cup that had spilled its contents into the carpet, nothing was out of place. "Come on, buddy. What's goin' on with you?" Dean pulled his head and shoulders into his lap and gave him a shake, trying to be careful of his back. "Sam!" He cupped a hand around the side of his face and tilted his head back as he swallowed back a lump of fear. "Come on, buddy." It was a forcible reminder of trying in vain to wake his brother after the first time his wall had cracked and while he knew this couldn't be the same thing, it still rocked him just as hard to have him be that unresponsive. "Dammit, Sam, wake up!"

Dean had just a moment to register something different in the room, like a change in the air pressure, and then something hard connected with the back of his head and the world went away on a flash of pain.

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Dean woke with a groan and a splitting headache and, for just a moment, wondered how many shots he'd downed the night before…then it flooded back - finding a strange man over his unconscious brother, holding Sam and trying to wake him, and something hitting the back of his head. His eyes flew open and he groaned again as he found his wrists tied tightly behind him and realized he was lying on his side in the grass. He swallowed against a wave of nausea and looked around.

"Sam?"

"Oh, good. You're awake."

Dean craned his head around and watched feet step around his head. He looked up and glared death at the manager of the motel. "Where's my brother, you son of a bitch? If he's…"

"He's fine." The manager chuckled and rolled his shoulders. "Even heavier than you. At least you can walk on your own. Here we go now."

Dean growled angrily when the man took a solid hold of his shoulders and rolled him up and then pulled him to his feet where he swayed as his head swam for a moment. He pulled at whatever was binding his wrists and had a moment's relief when he felt a little give once he was standing. "The hell's goin' on? Who are you? Where's Sam? Sam!" His head rocked back when the manager slapped him harshly.

"Behave or I'll just carry you too. Let's go." The manager took Dean's shoulders and turned him, pushing him through the grass.

Dean stumbled into a walk into the trees, wishing the man would let his arm go so he could free his hands. All the while, he struggled with the need to know where his brother was and what condition he was in that the son of a bitch had had to carry him. "What the hell is this?"

The motel manager smiled over at him. "Lunch."

"Huh?" Dean's brows flew up and he stared. "What do you mean, lunch?" His fear for his brother drove up another notch.

"I saw you." The manager nodded to Dean and gave him another shove forward. "Yesterday." He dug his fingers painfully into the side of Dean's neck and dragged his head close with an angry glare. "You won't have a flare gun this time."

Dean's eyes blew wide in surprise. He grunted as his neck was released and he was shoved again, stumbling and almost going down before the manager caught his arm and righted him again. "Son of a bitch. What is that thing, some kind of twisted pet?"

"Something like that." The manager smiled. "You made him mad. I think he deserves a little payback, don't you? Keep moving."

Dean's mind whirled as they walked, and he felt the ground go spongy beneath his feet. They pushed out of the trees and he realized they were back at the renaissance faire grounds, but on the other side. "You put that thing out here? Let it eat the damn tourists? You are one sick bastard."

"Everything has to eat."

"First chance I get, I'm gonna make sure you're the one on the menu, pal," Dean promised him darkly. They neared a small, octagon shaped building that the roof had been torn off of and the manager pushed him around it. "Where's my brother?"

"You'll see him in a minute."

Dean snarled angrily again as he was shoved and gritted his teeth when the manager's fingers dug into his bicep painfully. He needed to know where Sam was or he'd have tackled the son of a bitch and done his best to cave his head in even without his hands free. He realized he was being herded toward the pirate ship on the shore and rolled his eyes. "Really? What are we gonna do, walk the plank? You need some imagination."

The manager chuckled. "Not exactly." He pulled and pushed, getting his captive up the rotted, creaking gangplank and onto the deck. He maneuvered him toward the center of the deck and swept his legs, smiling at the pained grunt Dean gave him when he went down. "You'll have to wait here while I go find my friend. He was a little out of sorts after his encounter with you."

Dean watched him pull open a hatch, flinging it back to the wood deck with a thump. "We're gonna kill that thing and then I'm gonna kill you. Long as we're sharing to-do lists." Dean grinned up at him and tried to kick out when the manager came back, but the man danced nimbly away and came around his other side.

"Oh, I don't think so. Here we are now." The man pulled on Dean's shoulders painfully again and got him up. "You know what they say about a fall. Try to relax."

"Wha…" Dean broke off as he was shoved backward and fell through the open hatch. He tumbled through the air and landed with an explosive grunt as the air was knocked out of him. He saw stars again, head swimming with the impact, and blinked furiously to stay awake. He looked up into the open hatch above, squinting against the glare of the sun as the manager leaned in to look at him. "Where…where's my brother, dammit?" He yelled.

"You're laying on him. Don't go anywhere now!"

Dean startled as the hatch slammed closed and he realized his legs were raised up on something soft. "Sammy?" He rolled to his side and in the slim shafts of light coming through the holes in the deck; saw his brother, his legs lying across Sam's back and in the meager light, couldn't tell if Sam was even breathing.

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_To Be Continued…_


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5** _

Dean pulled his legs off Sam's back and pulled furiously at the rope binding his wrists. He gritted his teeth as it tore at his skin and kept twisting and pulling. He rested his newly aching head on the floor of the cargo hold and swallowed back the bile that tried to rise up. If he hadn't had a concussion from when the asshole knocked him out, he was pretty sure he'd earned one now after the fall.

"Dammit," Dean groaned and pulled harder, keeping his eyes on Sam's back, watching in the slim shaft of light striking him, and he sucked in a breath, closing his eyes as he finally saw the almost imperceptible rise and fall of Sam's back as he breathed. "Holy crap," he whispered, and then groaned as his left hand slid out of the rope. He rolled to his back and pulled his hands around, giving them a shake as they throbbed with returning blood and then crawled to Sam.

"Hey, Sammy." Dean was wary for a moment about moving him and then decided it was worth the risk. There wouldn't be any help coming for them. He took Sam's shoulder and carefully, slowly rolled him over and into his lap, letting his head rest in the crook of his elbow. He grimaced at the sight of blood smeared and starting to dry on Sam's face from a cut near his left eyebrow, evidence of his own drop into the hold, and ran a hand worriedly down his brother's left arm that had been curled awkwardly under him. He didn't feel any breaks thankfully and leaned Sam forward a little to pry up one eyelid. His pupil was dilated far more than it should be, and Dean felt fresh rage well up in him. The son of a bitch had drugged his brother.

"Sam. You gotta wake up. I need you to wake the hell up now," Dean begged softly and then looked around their makeshift prison, unable to make out much in the dim light. He tapped the side of Sam's face lightly and a smile broke over his face as Sam frowned and he heard a soft, low moan. "That's it, buddy. Sam. Hey!" He tightened his grip around Sam as he jerked suddenly, like waking up out of one of those dreams where you're falling. "Open your eyes, little brother."

Sam heard Dean's voice like it was coming through water; muffled and indistinct but as he worked to actually get his eyes open, Dean's voice became louder and he focused on that over the fuzzy feeling in his head. He felt fingers slide into his hair, an old gesture of comfort that Dean didn't often use anymore unless Sam had well and truly scared him, and he finally cracked his eyes open enough to see him. "Dean?"

Sam's voice was little more than a ragged whisper but it was enough to make him smile. "The one and only," Dean said softly and kept a hand buried in Sam's hair to hold his head still. "No, no. Come on." He urged when Sam's eyes started to close again. "Sammy."

"Mmf." Sam's mind didn't seem to want to focus on anything beyond the sound of his brother's voice and he felt…strange. "S'wrong wi' me?"

"I'd say he drugged you," Dean told him and tried to keep the anger out of his voice. "I'm gonna go with the coffee."

Sam frowned and tried to stop his eyes rolling back as he thought about it and then nodded. "Coffee. Guy…s'creepy."

"Yeah." Dean slid his arm behind his brother's back to sit him up higher and groaned when he felt the blood seeping through the thin undershirt that was all Sam had been wearing, that and his sweatpants. "Think you popped some stitches. Lean forward a little, ok?" Dean eased him over, letting Sam lean on his arm across his chest and tugged up the back of his shirt. The shaft of sunlight showed fresh blood seeping out from torn stitches in his lower back and two fresh bruises coming up that could only be from Dean's legs crashing down on him. "Dammit."

"Dean." Sam moaned it softly with his head suddenly pounding with pain, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Take it easy," Dean soothed and pulled his brother upright again, letting him lean against his chest. "How you feeling? Still high?"

Sam nodded slowly. "Not…we're not…motel, right?"

"Pirate ship," Dean informed him and managed a small smile. "Told ya' I'd get on this thing, although this ain't exactly how I planned it."

Sam snorted and tried to will away the cobwebs still in his head. "Dean…we…in trouble, yeah?"

Dean nodded grimly. "Yeah, just a bit. We'll be ok." He ducked to get a look at his brother's face. "You sit up on your own for a minute or do you wanna lie back down?"

Sam shook his head. "Up. I can…can do up." He wasn't actually sure he could, but he was damn well going to try and planted his hands on the floor, then winced and drew his left arm into his chest. "Crap. Why…why's m'arm hurt?"

Dean really did not like that whatever drug the manager had given him still seemed to be screwing with Sam so heavily. "You landed on it funny when he tossed you down here. It's not broken, though." He waited a moment to make sure that Sam was actually sitting on his own and then stood slowly, careful of his still slowly spinning head. He made his way over to the wall and started along it, feeling for any sign of a door or boards he could kick out. Dean stopped and rested his forehead against the plank wall for second and frowned. "We're not movin'. Boat must be resting on the bottom."

"S'comforting," Sam said softly and chuckled. "'leas' we won'…won't sink, God! What'd he gimme?" He asked suddenly and ran a trembling hand over his face.

"I don't know," and Dean was working very hard not to worry about that. It could be poison for all they knew. He pushed that thought away and continued his examination. He went all the way around the cargo hold and groaned when he reached his starting point, having found no way out but the hatch above, though he did find a few long and short lengths of wood that were once likely a ladder leading up. "Guess an actual door in here only makes sense if it's a real pirate ship. Son of a bitch!" He kicked the wall and went back to sit beside his brother and rubbed a hand over the back of his head. He didn't find any blood, but there was a good-sized knot which explained his splitting headache.

"Hurt?" Sam asked as he turned to look over at his brother and couldn't stop the slow slide into his shoulder.

Dean snorted and slid an arm over Sam's shoulders to keep him upright. "Just a knock on the head. It's fine, dude. More worried about you, not to mention, asshole's gonna be back here with that damn creature to make a meal out of us."

That jerked Sam more into wakefulness with the realization that they were in even more danger than he'd thought. He took a deep breath to try and clear his head and wrinkled his nose. "Smells in here."

"Yeah, I noticed." Dean grabbed his brother's jaw and turned his head to get a better look at the open cut, wiping some of the blood away with his thumb. "Think you're gonna need a couple stitches here, dude."

"No. Dean, it…" Sam pulled his head free and tried to make his fuzzy mind focus. "I mean…smells like…mildewed wood." He met Dean's eyes and blew out a breath. "Means it's soft."

Dean stared and then started to grin. "That's my geek." He chuckled and squeezed Sam's shoulder before he got back to his feet again. "Stay there. I'll find it." If he could find the mildewed section of hull, he might be able to break through it and get them out of the damn hold.

Sam nodded while Dean moved away and had to let himself down to lay on the floor as the pain in his back became impossible to ignore and he suddenly felt nauseous. The smell became stronger and made him swallow hard. "Dean…floor."

"Huh?" Dean frowned, seeing his brother now curled on his side but he nodded. "Right. Ok." He got on his knees and, silly as it made him feel, started sniffing along the planks toward Sam, since he seemed to smell it stronger there. He knocked his knuckles into each plank, wishing more sunlight were filtering down from above and smiled as his fist suddenly went through one of the planks; the rotten wood parting like wet cardboard. "Yahtzee. Got it, Sammy."

Dean sat back on his butt and raised his leg, letting the heel of his right boot drop heavily. The wood splintered and gave, and he moved back to make the whole larger. "Sam? You still with me?" He took the raised thumb Sam gave him with a grim nod and went back to widening the hole. He crawled to the edge and looked down, seeing green water backlit with reflected sun and the slimy bottom of the lake. He hung his head over the side to look under and grinned again. "Think we got just enough room to crawl out."

"Kay," Sam muttered and tried to get back up with just his right arm. His left was still a misery from being under him when he landed. "Can do this."

"I know you can, buddy," Dean assured him and helped Sam sit up. "Stay sitting." He stood and pulled his brother across the floor to the hole as the sound of a musical roar sounded outside somewhere. "Shit. Ok, we are outta time." He dragged Sam to the hole and let his legs drop down, then slid in beside him. He shivered and blew out a breath. "Friggin water's cold."

Sam nodded and let himself sink down into the water until he was lying flat with a hand pressed to the bottom of the hull. "Dean."

"It's ok. You can do this." Dean took his arm. "Just take a deep breath. I'll pull us both out." The hull sat slightly down in the water where they were so they'd have to swim underwater to get out. "Won't take more than a minute." He watched Sam suck in a breath with a pained look as it no doubt pulled the wounds on his back and then Dean took in his own, ducked down and pulled along the bottom with his free hand, dragging Sam along with him.

Sam's back protested the movement, the water, each bump along the hull but most of all his attempt to hold in that deep breath and spots were dancing through his vision by the time Dean gave his arm a tug and they went up. He gasped in air as his head broke the surface and nodded in gratitude when Dean slid an arm over his shoulder and across his chest to keep his head afloat. He looked blearily around then tapped Dean's arm; pointing to the small, castle-like structure across the lake.

"Right," Dean said, a little breathless. "Good idea." They'd have a better chance at finding a defensible position there than in one of the rickety buildings still standing. He swam backwards away from the decaying hull of the ship and was glad it was between them and wherever the motel manager had gone and THAT was something he needed to pick his brother's brain on. The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him that the manager had come through a locked door and behind him without Dean hearing him. There was just no way; not with his instincts. There was definitely something hinkey going on with the manager.

Sam kept his eyes on the ship and shore, though it wavered through his drugged vision, wary of the man from the motel or the manticore spotting them as they swam. The chilly water was actually helping to ease the pain in his back and arm, but his head still sang with an ache from the blood he'd felt his brother wiping off earlier. It galled him that he was so out of it that Dean had to damn near carry him. He hated feeling so helpless…useless.

"Almost there," Dean panted, checking over his shoulder and seeing they were only a few yards from the grassy shore and the stone castle rose up right at the edge. He dropped a leg down and felt the bottom. "Ok." He slowly stood, pulling Sam along as he walked through the shallows and then got his brother's feet under him, more or less, to stagger out of the water. Dean groaned under his weight, his brother's, and their waterlogged clothes. "Help me out here, dude."

"Sorry," Sam tried to get his weaving sense of balance to cooperate and stop pulling at his brother. "S'damn…drug. Can't…"

"I know. Don't worry about it." Dean heard the manticore's strange call again and hitched them into a faster walk. They reached the side of the small castle. It looked to be only two stories, and they went around the tower to the square, stone building off its back, and he smiled in relief to find a door. It was split in two and hanging off a hinge, but it let them inside.

"Tower," Sam said breathlessly as they stepped out of the sun and into the dim interior. "Second floor…stairs. We can…"

"…bottle the thing up when it comes after us. I'm on it." Dean hitched him higher on his shoulder. "How's your arm?"

"Sore." Sam blinked, relieved to find his vision slowly clearing and the fog starting to life from his mind. "Think…it's wearing off…the drug."

"Good." Dean gave him a quick smile and eased them both through a small, empty room and then into the bottom of the tower. He'd been expecting half-collapsed wooden stairs and grinned to find an iron stair instead, spiraling up out of sight. "Alright, buddy. One flight of stairs and then you can have a beauty nap."

"Bite…bite me, Dean." Sam managed a respectable glare before he smirked and chuckled softly, letting Dean help him up each step and keep him from staggering.

"Givin' me lip. Yeah, you're feeling better." Dean peered out a narrow window as they passed and looked out over the lake. He jerked in surprise as he saw the manticore perched on the deck of the pirate ship with its hideous head down in the hatch. "Think we're busted."

Sam nodded, looking for himself. "Gotta hurry."

"What do you…think we're doing?" Dean rolled his eyes and smirked as he pulled Sam faster up the stairs with him. "Takin' the scenic route?" He blew out a breath in relief when they reached the top of the stairs and found a closed door. Dean tried the knob, turned it, and pushed it open onto a large, round room that took up the whole level with two arrow slits in the walls letting sunlight shine in on the weathered and water-damaged, wooden floor. There was a collapsed table, two broken chairs and the remains of a cabinet toppled by the far wall.

"Not…not a lot to work with," Sam observed and groaned when Dean lowered him down to sit against the wall away from the door. He angled himself so his back wasn't pressing against the stone and ran both hands over his face while Dean wedged the door shut again. "You know, I don't…I don't think the manager's human."

Dean smirked and rolled his eyes as he prowled the room. "I was thinkin' the same thing. Guy came through a locked door to get the drop on me."

Sam saw the look of disgust on his brother's face and sighed. "Wasn't your fault. You were distracted."

"Not that distracted, Sam," Dean told him firmly. "It's not your fault either, so cut that crap out right now."

Sam rolled his eyes and slowly got his legs under him again, pushing up the wall to stand. He put fingers to the wound he could feel on his forehead above his left eye and grimaced. "I really…wanna kill this guy."

Dean chuckled. "Don't worry. I'm still the better looking brother."

"You're still a jerk."

"Bitch. Here." Dean pulled an iron rod from inside the broken cabinet and handed it to his brother with a shrug. "Better than nothing."

Sam nodded and eased over to one of the thin windows. He looked out over the lake in time to see the manticore leap down from the ship and into the water. "I think it's figured out where we went."

"That's ok." Dean gave a wry smile. "Have to let the damn thing take a shot at us first anyway, right?" He wished he had his phone and could call Bobby to see if he'd found a better way, but, in their present situation, it didn't really matter.

"Yeah." Sam went to the ruined desk and knelt unsteadily. He grabbed a corner and pulled a board loose, holding it up. "Maybe we can use these like shields?"

Dean snorted. "I think I can piss it off enough to shoot at me, yeah." He took the length of wood and hefted it. "According to Captain Creepy, I really ticked it off when I shot it in the mouth with a flare."

Sam chuckled. "I can sympathize."

"Shuddup." Dean smirked and went to the door, inching it open to peer out and down the curving stairs. The humor, he knew, was helping them to not think about just how screwed they were with no weapons, no phones…Dean rolled his eyes. His brother didn't even have his clothes. He was stuck in soggy sweatpants, an undershirt, and barefoot. He looked down at his own water-logged clothes and groaned. Laundry was going to be a bitch. The smirk fell from his face as he heard the first, almost musical snort softly from the stairs. "It's coming."

Sam stiffened and came away from the window to stand near his brother. "This is going to be…interesting."

"You just stay the hell back." Dean gave him a gentle nudge away from the cracked door.

Sam scowled but stepped clear. He knew he was nowhere near a hundred percent. He rolled his eyes at himself; he wasn't anywhere near fifty percent with the last dregs of the drug still working through him, though it was taking the edge of what he knew would be massive back pain later. He rubbed a hand over his lower back, hitching up his wet shirt and frowned. "Dude…did you land on me in the hold?"

"What?" Dean looked over and gave him his best innocent face. "No. You got tossed down there like a sack of potatoes."

"Uh huh," Sam wasn't fooled and smiled. He'd save that one for a guilt-trip later and get Dean to stop at a restaurant he actually liked…assuming they didn't both end up dead in the next five minutes. As if sensing his brother's thoughts, Dean's eyes suddenly grew somber and caught and held Sam's for a long moment, a lifetime of unspoken thoughts passing between them with the realization that, given their more-desperate-than-usual-even-for-them situation with no weapons and less than full strength, one or both of them not making it out of this was a very real possibility. And while death had never been permanent for them before, with the apocalypse out of the way and their vessels no longer needed, they both kind of figured that the next time around, it might be for good. Sam swallowed hard and just gave Dean a small nod. Dean quirked an eyebrow and gave his 'what-the-hell' shrug of one shoulder in return, silently vowing that this thing was not getting to Sam while he was still breathing. 'Over my dead body' was a literal vow for him, and he intended to honor it.

Dean tuned everything else out as he heard the sound of something large moving up the stairs. He waved a hand at Sam to let him know and then squeezed out the door to the top of the stairs. He held the plank of wood up in front of him like a shield and wished the thing was bigger. He rolled out his shoulders, still sore from being bound and his hard landing in the hold, and flattened himself to the wall to present as small a target as possible, and then rolled his eyes. He was supposed to be a target at this point and hope the manticore would return the shot Dean took at it yesterday. Better him than Sam, he decided.

The sounds became louder and he could hear the scrabble of claws on metal treads, the brush of a muscled body against the walls, and that peculiar, fluting snarl that was almost musical. Dean knew the thing was fast but hoped the confines of the stairwell would hamper it as he jerked out from behind the wall and onto the first couple steps.

"Hey, ugly!" Dean yelled and worked not to panic finding the manticore closer than he'd guessed, a mere ten or twelve steps below him. It's misshapen face turned up to him, jaws opening to reveal sharp teeth and its fetid breath made him want to gag as the smell reached him. Dean kept his eyes on the tail as it curved up, scorpion-like, over the manticore's back and hovered menacingly. "That's right. Remember me?" Dean grinned at the thing and it roared, the sound filling the stairs. It swiped a long, three-clawed foot out, and Dean reared back a step to avoid it. He swung out with his wooden shield and slammed the edge into the manticore's head.

"Dean! Be careful!"

Dean didn't look back at his brother's shout as the creature's tail swung up again and this time darted toward him. He raised the piece of wood and heard several loud hisses of air, and then quills thunked into his shield. Before he could consider grinning or what he should do next, the quills pierced through the wood with enough pressure that they forced it back into his chest and Dean staggered back to fall as he felt them pierce into his chest and shoulder with black creeping across his vision as the already abused back of his head cracked into the stone floor.

"DEAN!" Sam's shout was deafening as he watched his brother go down and the manticore loom over him. He burst from behind the cracked door and drove the iron rod Dean had given him down at the manticore's head. The point drove into one of its eyes, and it roared in pain so loud, dust filtered down from the ceiling.

Sam tossed the rod behind him back into the tower room and bent with a groan to slide his hands under his brother's shoulders. He lifted and pulled, dragging him back through the door while the manticore clawed furiously at its own face and the eye Sam had punctured. He let Dean down and went back to the door, slamming it shut, and slid a less than sturdy crossbar in place to lock it.

"Dean?" Sam dropped beside his brother in a near panic. "Talk to me." The impromptu wooden shield was still over his chest with three long quills piercing it.

Dean moaned and tried to raise his head to look down his own chest at the blood spreading out across his still-wet shirt. He rolled his eyes up to meet Sam's frightened gaze. "Got...the quills." With that, his head fell back and he lost his fight with consciousness.

"Dean? Dean! No, no, please." Sam put a shaking hand to his neck to feel the pulse pounding there as the creature roared again on the stairs and the door rattled in its frame from a heavy impact as the manticore struck it.

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_To Be Continued…_


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6** _

Sam pulled his brother further from the door and off to the side so if it banged open, he wouldn't be in the direct path of the manticore. "God. Dean?" He leaned over to get a better look and nearly overbalanced, still unsteady from the drug in his system. "Dammit. Ok." He glanced at the door as it shook again and then clasped a hand around Dean's shoulder when his brother moaned. "Dean?" He watched his brother's eyes flutter open though they were glazed and gave him a smile. "So, not the best plan ever, huh?"

Dean groaned softly and tried to get a hand up to the board that was effectively nailed to his chest. His eyes widened in no small amount of horror when he realized his hand hadn't moved, nor his arm, and he found he couldn't convince any part of his body to move except for his head. "Sam!"

"Dean? What's wrong?" Sam saw a fine tremor run through his brother's limbs but he didn't move.

"Can't move!" Dean gasped and slammed his eyes closed. He could feel everything, each quill piercing his skin, his brother's hand pressing into his shoulder, but he couldn't move. "Thought you said…not poisoned!"

"They're not. They…" Sam ran an unsteady hand through his hair and sucked in a breath. "The lore was really vague, Dean. There was something about a…crap." He hung his head and then met his brother's frantic gaze. "A paralytic. It won't last!" Sam said quickly before Dean's panic level could get any worse. "It's temporary."

"You sure…'bout that?" Dean watched Sam nod firmly and closed his eyes again, then snapped them back open as the door rattled in its frame yet again. "Get these…outta me. S'comin' in."

Sam nodded. It wouldn't take the manticore much longer to take down the door, and once it did, if it got inside the room before Sam could kill it or wound it enough to scare it off, they'd be slaughtered. He smiled for Dean's benefit. "This is usually where I'd tell you to try not to move, but…"

"Kickin' your ass, Sammy," Dean growled up at him and appreciated the attempt at humor. "Soon's I can…can move again."

Sam's attention was already on the quills and the shoddy piece of wood. He was studying the long, slightly curved weapons and noted how they tapered before passing into the wood and out of sight into his brother's chest. He leaned down again onto his side and bit his bottom lip as he sat back up. "I think they're actually pretty shallow in your chest." He put his hands to either side of the board and wrapped his fingers around it.

"Wait. Wait!" Dean stared, now well and truly panicked realizing what Sam was planning to do.

"It's the best way," Sam told him calmly, even as the creature battered the door and the wood began to creak. "Even if I try to take them out one at a time, the whole board is going to move. Just…take a deep breath." He managed a very Dean-like smirk. "Think of it like ripping off a band-aid all at once rather than a little bit at a time."

Dean groaned, wanting any other plan than this but knew his little brother was right. He'd make the same decision in Sam's place. He resigned himself and sucked in a deep breath before giving him a nod.

Sam took a steadying breath, tightening his fingers on the wood. "Ready?" he asked, and Dean gave him a short nod. He didn't draw it out since Dean was tense enough and pulled sharply as Dean's voice cried out in pain and filled the room. The sickening, wet squelch as the quills slid out of his brother's chest made him grimace as he fell back and got a good look at the front of Dean's now red shirt. He had to swallow hard and steel himself, knowing that it was likely not as bad as it looked. He dropped it and leaned forward to wrap a hand around Dean's neck as his brother groaned and gasped for breath through the pain. "Easy. They're out, Dean. They're gone. It's ok."

Dean wished he could move so he could curl up in a ball and hide from the burning pain the quills left in his chest. He could feel blood welling from the wounds to run down his sides and shoulder and fought the urge to pass out again with Sam's frightened, worried voice in his ear. He felt Sam's hand leave his neck and twitched, getting his eyes open. "Sam?"

"Right here," Sam assured him and smiled. "It's not bad." He'd tugged up his brother's t-shirt to get a look at the puncture low over his ribs on the right side. Though it bled sluggishly, it was a small hole and there was only a bare, quarter-inch of blood on the end of the quills. He wanted to sit with him until Dean could move again and he was sure he was alright, but another rattle of the ever-weakening door told him they were running out of time. "I gotta do this, Dean. Just…try and stay calm."

"Wha'? Sam, no…" Dean's eyes snapped open and followed his brother as Sam moved away. "You can't fight that thing!"

"No choice," Sam said grimly and picked up the board. He twisted and wriggled one of the quills out. It was roughly eight inches long and nowhere near long enough to keep him from being slaughtered as he tried to kill the manticore. He frowned and looked around and his eyes fell on the iron rod he'd stabbed it with. He gave a small smile and pulled it over. "It's ok. I can do this." He took the wide end of the manticore's quill and pushed, wedging it into the end of the rod and smiled grimly at his makeshift spear with Dean's blood still on the end.

Dean opened his mouth to argue and then closed it because Sam was right. Much as he hated it, there was no choice. That thing was going to be in the room any moment, and there wasn't a damn thing Dean could do about it. "You die…I'm gon'be pissed."

Sam chuckled softly and got to his feet, wavering as his head swam for a moment. "I'll be fine." He wasn't sure he actually believed that as he stood facing the door and hefted the short spear. His right arm was still stiff, and the way his elbow screamed pain at him as he moved it, he figured he'd come damn close to dislocating it when he'd landed in the hold. He glanced over at his blood-covered brother and hoped Dean was far enough away to not be trampled if the manticore got past him. Sam took a few steps closer to the door and waited as it shook again and chunks of rotted wood flew off it into the room.

Dean watched Sam standing with his impromptu spear and it tore at him to be so damn helpless. All he could do was watch while his little brother faced down the creature. He wanted to fight and have his back and hated himself a little. He gasped in a breath as the door suddenly burst open and then Sam was moving, running straight for the manticore as it tried to get into the tower room.

Sam lunged ahead while the creature rose up to look at him. It was too big to be able to use its tail in the doorway, which Sam had counted on to protect him from what had happened to his brother. He could see it whipping in the air behind the manticore, but it couldn't get a shot at him. He needed it to rear back so he could get at its heart, and he took a chance, ducking in close to feign a jab at its remaining eye. The manticore howled musically and, as Sam hoped, jerked backward away from the offending object. Sam took a steadying breath and plunged the quill-tipped spear into its chest. He drove it forward, putting all of his weight behind it and twisted, seeking the creature's heart. He growled with the effort and ignored the pain shooting across his back as he drove it out of the door and back to the top of the stairs. The manticore was screaming, and a loud, choked sound burst from its mouth as Sam gave the spear another hard shove and blood poured down its chest.

Dean could just see Sam's back through the door as he fought. The creature screamed. The sound choked off, and then he could only watch as Sam was suddenly pulled from view and he heard his brother's short, surprised cry. "SAM!" He shouted it over the sound of bodies rolling down the stairs. It was his nightmare come to life. Sam was being killed and he couldn't even twitch a damn finger to save him. The sounds finally stopped and everything fell to silence. It was deafening, and Dean's heart threatened to pound out of his chest. "Sam?" Seconds that felt like hours dragged by without a response. "Sam, answer me dammit!"

"Dean."

It was muffled and hard to hear, but Dean had heard him. "Sammy?"

Sam groaned and shoved at the heavy weight on top of him, the now-still body of the manticore. He hurt, and got a leg under the belly of the creature to shove it back, and it rolled a few more steps down the stairs, boneless and dead. He curled into himself for a moment around the burning pain in his stomach. Dean was going to kill him, and he smirked, a little punchy with blood loss, he was sure. He heard Dean call for him again and made himself move.

"Coming, I'm…I'm coming!"

Dean frowned and clearly heard the pain Sam was trying to hide in his voice. "Sam? You hurt? How bad?" He kept his eyes riveted on the door and listened to the soft grunts and low moans as his brother came back up the stairs. Dean felt his stomach leap into his throat as Sam appeared in the door. His undershirt was a bloody mess below his chest and Sam walked hunched over, slapping a hand out to the ruined doorframe to steady himself. "Shit, Sam."

"S'ok." Sam hobbled back into the tower room and over to his brother to drop next to him. He smiled wanly for him and patted Dean's shoulder. "It's not…not as bad as it looks."

"Bullshit." Dean growled angrily. He itched to be able to check him for himself and then realized his fingers were actually moving. He glared at his brother when he started tugging at his shirt. "Dude, I'm fine. How about you stop the damn bleeding you got goin' on?" He could see small drops of blood dropping to land on the floor at Sam's knees.

Sam shook his head and bent to check on Dean instead. It worried him that he still seemed completely paralyzed. "I think you've stopped bleeding," he said with relief and awkwardly pulled Dean's shirt back down. He dropped off his heels to sit with a weary thump and tried to summon up the energy to carry Dean down out of the tower and back to the car. "Just…gimme a minute. Get you out of here." He clenched his teeth, pushing back the burning pain in his stomach and the equal agony from his back after the tumble down the stairs and took Dean's arms gently.

"Dammit, Sam!" Dean yelled in frustration when his little brother tugged him up so he was sitting and let him rest against his shoulder. His head rolled forward out of his control and he blew out a breath. "You can't carry me, you idiot. C'n barely walk yourself!"

"Can't stay here," Sam pointed out and then frowned. "Is there a…do we have a car somewhere?"

Dean cursed as his arms and legs began to twitch. "Don't think so, but the dead hiker chick's Nova should still be out at the road. "So is it dead or just run off licking its wounds somewhere?"

Sam nodded. "Dead. Bottom of the stairs." He swallowed hard and moved, getting back to his knees. He got a foot under him, ignored his brother's continued cursing, and slowly gained his feet while pulling Dean's bulk over his shoulders. He groaned, hissing out a breath as his stomach and back protested and nearly went down again. "Shit."

"Put me down already, dammit." Dean wasn't enjoying it any more than Sam was. His chest damn well hurt.

Sam shook his head stubbornly. "Manager…still out here somewhere. Gotta move." He headed for the door, and the trip down the stairs was a nerve-wracking one as each step seemed determined to trip up his rubbery legs and send them both crashing to the join the manticore at the bottom. When they reached the creature, Sam had no choice but to set his brother down, unable to find a way to step over the thing. "Ok, easy."

Dean huffed out a breath of pain as Sam slid him off his shoulders, and Dean felt his feet hit the stairs. It gave him hope when he managed to curl the fingers of one hand into Sam's shirt and hold on. "Still bleeding, Sam," he informed him as Sam sat him down and leaned him against the wall and he was on a level with his brother's stomach. Sam's undershirt was stuck to his stomach with blood and the top of his sweatpants was saturated with it.

"I know." Sam shrugged and turned, crawling carefully over the body of the manticore. He jumped when the segmented scorpion-like tail twitched and then smiled sheepishly, kicking it away. He wrapped his arms around its neck and pulled to get it clear of the bottom of the stairs. He groaned with the effort and had to drop to his knees to curl an arm over his stomach as the pain and blood-loss took their toll.

"Sam, dammit," Dean was able to raise his head on his own finally and looked at his brother's head bowed in misery. He was beginning to be able to move himself again but still didn't have enough coordination to walk on his own. "Look." Dean knew this conversation wasn't going to end well but he had to try. "You need to go on your own. You can get help…bring someone back. Call Bobby maybe."

Sam turned his face up to glare angrily at his brother. "Don't you dare…tell me to leave you here." He shook his head and got shakily to his feet. "That asshole's still…still out here somewhere, and you can't even m-move." He broke off as his head swam and he swayed into the wall for a second. "Can't leave you here. Not alone." He met Dean's eyes with his own fierce look. "I won't."

"Sam, you're…" Dean stopped and closed his eyes. There was no point in trying to convince him. He knew that, but he'd had to try. "Just…get me up. Lemme try to walk."

Sam nodded and took his brother's arm, pulling it over his shoulders. He planted his other hand on the wall for leverage and pulled, unable to stop the gasp of pain as he got Dean standing though it was unsteady, and he could watch the effort on Dean's face as he tried to lock his knees. "You alright?"

"Better." Dean glared over at the manticore's carcass and wished he could have been the one to kill it. He did smile at the iron rod sticking out from between its front legs over its heart. "Dude, you…you totally jousted at the…the ren faire."

Sam was startled into a laugh. "Shut up, Dean."

"My hero," Dean chortled softly.

Sam turned to look at him and raised a brow. "You realize…that makes you the damsel in distress, right?" He laughed again, groaning even as it hurt, and couldn't stop the grin at the disgusted look on his brother's face.

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To Be Continued…


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7** _

Sam wasn't sure when exactly they went from him all but carrying Dean around the lake to Dean all but carrying him around the lake. He leaned heavily on his brother, fighting the urge to just curl over the misery of pain in his stomach while Dean struggled against the remaining paralytic in his system to keep his own legs moving.

"S'gonna hurt," Sam said suddenly in a voice heavy with exhaustion.

"Huh? What is?" Dean glanced over at him and worried all the more if Sam was just starting conversations in the middle without him.

Sam waved his sore right arm at his stomach and Dean's chest. "Cleaning these. Holy water. Gonna hurt." He groaned. "Again."

Dean sighed and nodded. "Pretty sure you're gonna be the one screaming, dude," He wanted to stop and triage Sam's stomach, but his brother had been right when he'd said they couldn't take the risk while still on the faire grounds; not with the manager out there somewhere. He snorted softly. They'd be hard-pressed to even put up a fight at the moment with the condition they were in.

"I don't…don't scream," Sam protested and then groaned when Dean only raised a brow at him. "Shut up."

Dean chuckled and had to right them hurriedly when one of his legs tried to go boneless on him again. "Crap."

Sam instinctively tried to take back some of his own weight to make it easier on his brother. He felt Dean's shoulders tense under his arm as they passed slowly through the little village, past the pirate ship and toward the footbridge. He felt it too, like something was waiting, the other shoe ready to drop. "Where'd he go?"

Dean shook his head. "I don't know. Maybe he went back to the motel." But even as he said it, his gut told him that was wrong. As soon as the manager, whatever the hell he was, figured out they'd killed his pet, he'd come after them. Of that, Dean was sure.

Sam grabbed on to the rail of the footbridge as they reached it and used it to take his own weight and let Dean walk alone. He grimaced each time he felt a splinter push into his bare feet and groaned again. "Wish that asshole had…had let me put some shoes on before he roofied me. Crap…ow, dammit."

Dean couldn't stop the amused snort. "Somehow, I think splinters are the least of your worries, princess." It was certainly the least of his. He'd seen more color on a ghost than Sam had in his face then with far too much blood staining his shirt and sweats and the fresh spots on his back from the reopened wounds. He wasn't sure how much more blood Sam could afford to lose before his body just started shutting down. Hell, he wasn't even sure how his brother was still conscious. If not for the now ever-present fear of being eaten by one of purgatory's most wanted, he'd have taken Sam straight to the nearest emergency room. It pissed him off more than he could explain that the leviathans had that much of an impact on their everyday life. As if Hunting wasn't dangerous enough, now they had to try and do it without the need of emergency medical attention…ever. "Easy. Sam," Dean grabbed his arm as Sam swayed and his knees started to buckle.

Sam nodded wearily and locked his knees to stay standing, just holding on to the rail. "M'ok."

"Uh huh," Dean rolled his eyes and pulled his brother's arm over his shoulders again. He slid his own behind Sam's back and scowled, feeling him shivering in the shade of the trees, knowing it could be blood loss or lack of decent clothes and was probably both. "Just a little further and we'll fold you into that little car."

Sam snorted. "Not gonna fit," he said and started moving again with Dean's help.

"Well, I could strap you to the roof." Dean smirked. "Don't think you'd fit there either. It's a Nova, dude. S'practically a Matchbox car."

Sam chuckled and then groaned. He could feel his body weakening and he fought it. He had to put all his energy into just walking, keeping his legs moving and trying not to take Dean down with him. He lost track of time, simply counting each step, and staggered to a stop with Dean's arm across his chest.

"Sam, we're here. Hey." Dean's concern for his brother rose by the minute with Sam more and more out of it. He was having trouble staying focused himself. The wounds in his chest still burned and seemed to sap his strength. He leaned his brother against the side of the Nova and sighed, letting him down slowly until he was sitting with his shoulder leaned into it, rather than his back. "Sammy."

Sam realized suddenly that he was sitting and couldn't remember when that had happened. "Dean?" He pulled his head up to meet Dean's worried, green eyes.

"Sit tight for a sec. Gotta get this open." Dean patted his shoulder and straightened, going around to the driver's side of the little red car.

Sam frowned and looked over. His brows went up, seeing that he was leaning against the car. "Wow. 'm'out of it." He looked down at his stomach and groaned, letting his head roll to the side of the car with the wish that he could skip the part where they cleaned his wounds.

Dean tried the handle and rolled his eyes, finding it locked as he'd feared. "Damn." He looked around for something heavy enough to break the back window and saw a large rock. He rubbed a hand over his chest with a grimace for his bloody and stiffening shirt as he staggered over for it. He groaned and knelt slowly, picking up the rock and got back to his feet. "Hang on, Sam. Have us outta here…in a minute."

"I don't think so."

Dean spun in shock to find the manager on the other side of the car and pulling Sam up with one arm even as his brother struggled feebly. Sam just didn't have anything left to fight with. "Son of a bitch! Let him go!"

The manager glared over at him. "You killed my pet, didn't you?" he spit at Dean as he wrapped an arm under Sam's chin, roughly pulling his head back. "Or was it you?" He sniffed along Sam's jaw, ignoring the angry growl from Dean and his glare deepened.

"I…I skewered your p-pet." Sam coughed when the manager's arm tightened.

"Sam, stop tryin' to piss him off!" Dean warned and stepped closer to the car but stopped with a frown when the motel manager put a hand over his brother's chest.

"You don't even know what I am, do you?" the manager asked and then he smiled. He slowly and deliberately pressed his hand into Sam's chest over his heart. "Gidim."

Sam gasped and then cried out in pain as he felt the hand sink beneath his skin, under his bone and could actually feel fingers wiggle inside his chest.

"STOP!" Dean screamed it and jerked into motion.

"Closer and I'll kill him!" The manager, the gidim, warned him. "All I have to do is squeeze my hand and his heart will pop."

Sam's mind spun, pulling together little pieces of information he'd read over the years, even things he'd learned in the cage, and he got his eyes open enough to meet his brother's furious, tortured gaze. "Ghost!" He gasped out quickly and choked as his air was cut off and the hand inside his chest moved again.

Dean's eyes narrowed. A ghost he could deal with. He was sure there was more to it than that, but Sam seemed to think knowing that would be enough for now and Dean could roll with it. He flicked his eyes to the car. 'Use what you've got' were words their dad and Bobby had drilled into them as boys, and he made a mental note to get Bobby a good bottle of whiskey for indulging his love of all things car. Dean's eyes swept the car quickly, cataloguing each detail. It was a '66 Chevy Nova, and his eyes landed on the rearview mirror with a small smile that was quickly gone as he looked back to the thing holding his brother…hurting him.

"Let him go," Dean said again and shifted a little to his right, closer to the car, but made it look as though he was keeping it between them to not upset the manager.

"Maybe when he's dead," The gidim smiled and bent to Sam's shoulder. He turned his face into the younger man's neck and bit.

A sharp, agonized cry startled out of Sam at the sudden rush of pain as he felt teeth sink in and his flesh was pulled and then it mercifully stopped and he sagged in the thing's grip.

The gidim looked up at Dean with a mouth stained with Sam's blood and visibly chewed the small piece of flesh he'd torn loose, swallowing loudly just for him. "Tasty."

Dean snarled, stomach roiling having to watch the thing actually eat a piece of his brother, and he met Sam's glazed eyes instead. "Sammy?"

Sam blinked and saw the knowledge in Dean's eyes that they were about to run out of options. He gave the briefest nod, trusting his brother to have a plan, and dropped. Sam let all his weight rest on the arm at his throat even as it cut off his air. He twisted, turning himself to bare the manager's back to Dean while spots danced over his vision.

Dean lunged forward and slammed his rock down into the rearview mirror, knocking it loose from its mooring. He dropped the rock and grabbed the mirror assembly, ripping the wires free of the car and, in one continuous motion, launched it like a fastball. It slammed into the back of the manager and then, almost in slow motion, seemed to sink inside him. The manager reared back and screamed as his hands released Sam and he blew apart in a shred of color.

"Shit!" Dean gasped, and then was running around the car as Sam went to his knees and started to fall forward. Dean dropped and caught him against his chest, letting his head loll onto his shoulder. "Sam?"

"How?" Sam asked hoarsely, struggling to stay conscious but needing to know.

Dean smirked and leaned him back to get a better look at him. "'66 Nova. The mirror mounts were still made of iron."

Sam stared, snorted softly and dropped forward again. "G…geek."

Dean chuckled weakly and just held on to him for a moment. "You good? Not gonna die in the next thirty seconds?" It was delivered like a joke, but he meant every damn word and Sam nodded weakly into his shoulder. "Ok. Here. Sit back for two seconds while I break into this thing." He eased Sam back against the car again and wasted no time running back around to the driver's side. Dean grabbed up his rock again and crashed it through the back window and reached in to open the doors. He was back at Sam's side in under a minute, loathe to leave him alone even that long with the manager…the gidin…who could come back at any moment.

"Hurts," Sam mumbled softly as Dean eased him up and into an open door.

"I know, buddy." Dean folded his legs into the car, noting that he'd been right and getting Sam to fit was a little like squeezing tuna into a can. Then he closed the door and ran back around and slid into the driver's seat. It took him under thirty seconds to fiddle under the dash and hotwire the car. "Good thing this is a Chevy and a '66," he said conversationally to Sam as he burned rubber away from the faire grounds. "Used the same ignition set-up as my baby."

Sam nodded, trying to let Dean know he was still aware, but he was close to passing out. So close he kept his head rolled toward Dean, needing to be able to open his eyes and see him to ground himself. "Mesopotamia."

"Meso-what, dude?" Dean asked and raised a brow at him while he drove.

"Gidin. It's…ancient. Mesopotamian, um…embodied spirit." Sam frowned and tried to gather his thoughts together. "The…the body dies, and the soul's…shoved back inside it, but…still dead."

"Wait." Dean turned onto the highway and tried to decide if he dared risk their motel in their state. "So like…a ghost-possessed zombie?"

Sam nodded slowly. "Bas…basically. Yeah."

"Ok." Dean stretched an arm out to rest on his brother's chest when Sam started to slide toward him. "How do we kill it?" He looked over when Sam didn't answer and frowned. "Sam, how do we gank that son of a bitch?"

Sam's eyes fluttered back open and he nodded again. "Right. Uh…salt…salt him. Burn him."

"Alive?" Dean asked for clarification, realizing the motel manager wasn't exactly alive anymore. Sam nodded and Dean grinned. "I like that plan." He liked it a lot, the idea of being able to watch the son of a bitch scream after what he'd put them through. He drove faster than he should have to reach the outskirts of town and stopped at the first pay phone he found. "Sam? Stay put." It was moot really since Sam was barely a step above out cold.

Dean climbed out of the car with a groan for his own injuries and went to the payphone, dialing Bobby's number from memory. "Bobby."

"Dean? Where the hell are you callin'…never mind. What the hell's goin' on?" Bobby's voice was loud and clear over the phone and filled with worry.

Dean smiled, relieved just to hear the older man's voice. "We had some trouble. Sam killed the manticore."

"That's good, right?"

"Not exactly," Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face. "The manticore wasn't alone. It had a master. He called himself a - gidin? Sam called it an embodied spirit."

"Balls!" Bobby breathed in shock. "You boys sure do know how to step in it, don't ya?" He thought furiously. "Alright, the normal protective crap ain't gonna work. Have Sam look up Babylonian purification sigils. Paint on 'em doors and windows in holy water. That oughta keep him out 'til I get there."

"Until you…Bobby, where are you?" Dean asked in confusion.

"You didn't answer your phone. Sam stopped answerin' his, and when I tried callin' that fleabag motel you two are stayin' at, I got no answer. I'm in my truck about two hours out. Where the hell else would I be?"

Dean's mouth dropped open and then he smiled, touched more than he would admit. He cleared his throat. "Right, uh…gonna pick a new motel, but we don't have anything. Money, cards, nothin'. I'm not risking going back to that motel right now. Sam's in bad enough shape already."

"How bad?" Bobby asked and listened to the soft hitch in Dean's breathing that told him more than he figured Dean thought it would. "Dammit. Hospital bad?"

"I dunno, Bobby. Maybe." Dean looked over into the car and had to lean up; Sam had apparently passed out or just lost the strength to sit up and was lying across the seats with his head in the driver's seat. "I haven't had the chance to get a good look at him yet, but I think the bleeding's stopped. But Bobby…that son of a bitch had his hand inside Sam's chest and whatever he was doin'…it wasn't good." He vividly remembered the look of agony on Sam's face, the sound of his scream, and shuddered.

"Alright, you're in luck. I got a friend about twenty minutes outside town." Bobby rattled off the address. "I'll call him and let you know you're comin'. He's a doctor, or close enough. He'll know what to do. You get goin' now."

"You sure about him?" Dean asked, because, after the last couple days, he wasn't willing to risk Sam on a stranger again.

"Yes, I'm sure, boy, or I wouldn't be sendin' you to him," Bobby snarled, saying without words that he was every bit as protective of them as Dean was of Sam. "Now get your asses movin!"

Dean hung up the phone with a smile and a shake of his head and went back to the car. He pulled open the door and sighed at his brother's head. "Dude, you are not makin' this easy." He bent and picked up Sam's head and shoulders, slid into the seat and rested Sam's head back on his leg with a shrug. He started driving again and rested a hand on his brother's chest to feel the steady thump of his heart. It was faster than he'd like but still beating and he'd take it. "Little longer, Sammy. Hang on. Just hang on."

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Dean pulled up in front of a small, brown house and parked, raising a brow as an older man in brown trousers the same color as his house and a white t-shirt came down off the porch, black hair blowing across his face. Dean climbed out of the car, slowed still by his own injuries and gently slid Sam's head back onto his seat before he turned and studied the man.

"You get a call?" Dean asked as he neared the front of the car.

The man smirked. "I did, and Bobby said the older brother would be the suspicious and ready to rip my head off if I step wrong. So, you'd be Dean." He held out a hand and gestured to his shirt, covered in drying blood. "Looks like your brother isn't the only one in need of my skills. Where is he?"

Dean considered for a moment, but his gut wasn't giving him any warnings so he took a small breath and nodded. "Out cold."

"Ok, well, that's not good. I'm Jim. Let's get him inside where I can get a look at both of you." Jim went around to the passenger door and Dean went quickly to join him.

"I can get him," Dean said firmly and reached for the door handle, staring in surprise when his hand was batted away.

"Don't be an ass. Let me help." Jim smiled at the young man. Bobby had been clear on the phone; either he put his foot down from the start or Dean would walk all over him. He tugged the door open and his brows rose. "Good lord." He took a breath at the sight of all the blood on the younger brother and reached in. He pulled him gently upright and wasn't surprised when Dean was there at his side to help unfold Sam from the car and get him standing between them. "What in hell happened? Bobby wasn't big on specifics."

"Manticore did most of this," Dean said simply, but nodded to the open wound in his brother's neck. "That's from the son of a bitch that was controlling it. He…he bit him and ate it."

"Holy Mary, Mother of God," Jim breathed and shook his head. "Come on. Sooner I get this boy on some fluids the better."

Dean had to admit to himself it helped to have Jim on his brother's other side, taking some of the weight from him. He was winded by the time they got up on the porch and grateful when Jim steered them away from the stairs and toward a room at the back of the house.

"Guest room," Jim explained and smiled. "Usually it's a laid-up Hunter using it. It's off the kitchen and has its own bathroom. Had it installed a few years ago after this one ornery Hunter ended up here. Rufus?"

Dean smirked and nodded. "Yeah, we're acquainted."

"Sour old pain in the ass," Jim chuckled. "I got tired of smelling him after three days and he couldn't get up the stairs to shower."

Dean had to laugh softly and could easily picture a wounded Rufus driving the doctor nuts. His estimation of the doctor went up another notch when they turned into the room and he saw there were two beds, rather than one, with clean linens in a softly lit room of white walls and blue trim. His eyes passed over the open bathroom door, and when Jim went for the nearest bed, Dean shook his head and aimed for the far one instead. The gidin was still after them and he wasn't going to take chances. A lifetime of practice made it easy for him to take his brother's weight from Jim and ease him down onto the bed, careful not to jar his back and then he sat next to him, his energy finally spent.

"I'm going to grab a few things. Back in just a minute." Jim rested a hand on Dean's shoulder for a moment and then left him there.

"Ok, little brother." Dean put a hand to the side of his neck not sporting a damn bite mark and squeezed. "Any time you wanna wake up and stop freakin' me out is good."

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_To Be Continued…_


	8. Chapter 8

_**Chapter 8** _

Dean stayed as far out of Jim's way as he was willing to go while the doctor started checking out his brother…which was the foot of Sam's bed. He'd come too damn close to losing Sam too many times in the last couple days and more than once because he hadn't been close enough or paying enough attention. He wasn't going to risk it happening again. He sucked in a breath after Jim cut Sam's ruined undershirt off him and got a look at the two, deep slashes to his abdomen.

"Shit," Dean hissed.

Jim bent over with a practice eye, pressing gloved fingers gently around the wound, feeling for damage the eye couldn't necessarily see. The boy had lost more blood than he'd liked, and Dean had assured him they were the same type so at least he didn't have that worry. He examined the wounds and leaned back after a moment to give Sam's brother a reassuring smile.

"I think it's alright really. Trust me. We'd smell it if something was perforated that shouldn't be." He paused. "Well, not that ANYTHING should be perforated at all, but you know what I mean. It could be much worse." He reached for a suture kit and raised a brow when Dean stopped him.

"You need holy water first," Dean told him. "Have to clean any wounds from that damn creature."

Jim sighed. "He's not going to punch me in the head when I use it, is he?" He smiled ruefully. "Rufus punched me in the head."

Dean snorted a laugh and gave a tired shrug. "No promises, man. He doesn't know you."

"Fantastic," Jim rolled his eyes for the 'fun' of treating Hunters.

"You have a laptop or computer here with Internet access?" Dean asked. "I need to look up some protection symbols to keep that thing from coming after us again until we're ready."

Jim nodded. "Yeah; out in the living room." He took a large thermos out of his bag and held it up. "You want to hold him down while I do this?"

Dean groaned and nodded. He got up and moved around the other side of the bed to lean over Sam and hold his arms in preparation. "Go ahead. Do it."

Jim's face firmed. He never liked causing his patients pain and he knew the poor boy in the bed was likely about to be screaming. He unscrewed the top and set it aside and then started pouring the holy water onto the open wounds in Sam's stomach. At first, there was only the bubble and hiss of the water, then Sam's whole body jerked in reaction and he came awake on a scream.

"DEAN!"

"Hey! Hey!" Dean fought to hold his struggling brother and catch his frantic eyes. "Sam! Look at me! Stop for a second!" Dean ordered and nodded when Jim pulled the water back. "Sam!"

Sam's stomach was a morass of white-hot pain, eating through him to his spine, and memories of the cage spun through his head, clouding his vision and his thoughts until finally his brother's voice broke through. He realized the cries he'd been hearing were his own, and his eyes snapped to Dean's. "Dean? Where…"

Dean sighed in relief and relaxed his grip a little. "We're at a friend of Bobby's." Dean told him calmly and smiled. "Doc here's cleaning out your wounds with holy water."

Sam scowled, looked down at Jim and back to his brother and then he rolled his eyes, letting his head fall back to the pillow. "Dammit…screamed…didn't I?"

Dean grinned. "Like a girl, little brother. Now hold on to me and let him finish, ok?"

Sam looked up at him and after a moment gave a small nod. He wrapped his hands around Dean's forearms, took a deep breath, and clenched his teeth.

"Ok." Dean nodded to Jim and felt Sam tense under him. He saw Jim plant a hand on Sam's hip to keep him from rolling away from the pain in order to do what needed to be done while Sam cried out and sobbed for air, and the grip Sam had on his arms was crushing. Finally the water stopped bubbling and Dean sagged in relief to look down at him again. "Ok, Sammy. That's your stomach done."

Sam cracked his eyes open to look up miserably. "Neck?"

Dean nodded while Jim moved up the bed to Sam's head. "No big deal, dude."

Jim put a gentle but firm hand on Sam's head and turned it away to have better access and began pouring the holy water. As with his stomach, the water hissed and steamed, and Sam's scream filled the room. Even though he knew it was necessary and for Sam's own good, hearing him screaming in agony like that tore at Dean's heart. But holding his brother down so that the torment could be inflicted on him…THAT, pierced him through to his very soul. With another strangled cry, Sam's back arched and then he simply collapsed onto the bed. "Sam?" Dean felt his brother's hands release his arms and panicked. "Sammy?"

"Take it easy, Dean," Jim had a hand on Sam's wrist and nodded. "He's just unconscious again."

"Son of a bitch," Dean groaned and sat on the side of the bed.

Jim felt for them. He didn't need more than five minutes in a room with them to see what put that particular tone in Bobby's voice on the phone. It had been very clear, though unsaid, that Singer considered these men family. The selfless way Dean looked after his little, albeit taller, brother without a thought for his own injuries spoke volumes.

"Anymore wounds on him I need to clean?" Jim asked softly.

Dean shook his head. "Don't think so." He gave the doctor a lopsided smile and pointed at his chest. "I've got a few though. They can wait. I'm good." Dean moved Sam's right arm so it was lying more naturally. "He wakes up again, you're gonna want me vertical. Check this arm too. Got bent under him funny when we were thrown in the pirate ship."

"Wait…" Jim turned and stared. "This story has pirates? I need to hear this later." He chuckled and picked up his suture kit and antiseptic then went and sat beside Sam's hip. "Hunters have the best stories."

Dean smirked and put a hand in Sam's hair when he started to roll his head. "Easy, Sammy," he said softly and his brother's head stilled.

An hour later, Sam's stomach was covered in bandages, his neck wrapped in gauze which had the benefit of hiding the bruises the gidin had left when he'd choked him. An IV line ran into his arm giving him much needed fluids, and Jim had even turned up a heart monitor. Dean laid on the other bed, listening to the comforting, steady, soft beep of his brother's heart while the doc taped bandages over Dean's chest. The holy water had hurt like white hot pokers drilling into his own chest, and he'd almost bit holes in the pillow to muffle his cries and not wake his brother, and still Sam had tossed on his bed, apparently hearing, or sensing, his brother's pain even in the depths of unconsciousness. Dean had tried to get up to go to him, only to have Jim's hand slap down on his wounded chest and leave him gasping with an order to 'stay'. Dean smirked and rested a hand over his aching chest. He liked Jim. He looked over at his brother, and, much as he wanted to stay there and get some sleep, they weren't safe yet.

Dean swung his legs off the bed and rolled up until his was sitting. He spent a moment leaning over and catching his breath. He was weaker than he should be and scowled at himself before standing shakily. He headed out in search of the computer and ran into the doctor in the hall.

"Dean. What did I tell you?" Jim said with an irritated scowl and took the man's shoulder, turning him around. "Bed. Now."

"Dammit, Jim. I need the computer," Dean argued as he was shoved and steered back into the room and down to sit on the side of the bed. "I need those protective sigils."

Jim took his arm out from behind his back and handed Dean a laptop. "Maybe you've heard of these. Portable computers? And there's this nifty concept called WiFi. Legs up before I sedate you and call Bobby."

Dean stared with his mouth hanging open and then chuckled. He laid back and took the laptop. "Uh….thanks. You have more holy water?"

Jim nodded and raised an amused brow at him. "Do you know how long I've been treating you stubborn Hunters?" He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the yard. "I get all my water from a well. Had it blessed a decade back, so even my tap water is holy water, son."

Dean laughed again. "I think I like you."

"I'll decide to like you too if you stay where I put you," Jim smiled and slapped his leg before going to check on Sam. He was still far paler than he liked, and he frowned as he looked at Sam's right elbow. "I'm gonna get some ice to put on that. It's swelling more than I'd like." He pointed a finger at Dean as he went for the door. "Stay!"

"Yes, sir." Dean shook his head, amused and opened the laptop. "Bring back holy water and a paintbrush or something!" Thankfully, it didn't take him more than ten minutes to find what he was looking for and he showed them to Jim.

"I thought they'd be more complicated," Jim commented, looking at the three symbols on the page and shrugged. "I can do that." He set a mason jar of water and a paintbrush on the table between the beds. "You can do this room. I'll do the rest of the house, and I expect you back in that bed the minute you're done."

Dean slid out of his bed again and grabbed the jar and brush, going to the window. He carefully painted the symbols in holy water on the glass, watching it dry before going to the bathroom and doing the same there. Sam was stirring when he went back into the bedroom, and he was quickly at his side, stopping the bag of ice and towel from slipping off his elbow.

"Hey, Sam," Dean said softly and gripped a hand around his shoulder as his brother's eyes fluttered slowly open.

"Dean," Sam's voice was a ragged whisper through a throat made raw with screaming and he groaned. "Where are we?"

"Bobby's friend. You remember?" Dean frowned and then smiled when Sam nodded slowly. "Got you all patched up, but I don't think you're going anywhere for a while."

Sam looked up at him and raised a hand to tap the bandages over his brother's chest. "You ok?"

Dean snorted. "Dude, I'm not the one who had a chunk taken out of him. I'm fine. How's your neck feel?" Jim had put a row of tight, careful stitches into Sam's neck to close the bite wound, and, if he was lucky, his brother would come out of it with only a slim scar.

Sam frowned. "Feel kinda…numb mostly."

Dean nodded. "That'd be the painkillers." He'd vetoed Jim giving his brother enough to completely knock him out. It was too dangerous with something hunting them, and he wanted his brother to have a fighting chance if it came to it, pain or not, at least until Bobby arrived.

"We safe?" Sam shuddered lightly, remembering the feel of the gidim biting him and took comfort in the heavy hand on his shoulder that pressed a little heavier.

"Think so," Dean shrugged and smirked. "For now, anyway. Bobby should be here in an hour or so."

"Wonder how long…how long that thing's been…snacking on tourists?" Sam shook his head sadly.

"He's not gonna be doing it for much longer." Dean eased a hip onto the side of the bed, needing to sit and wished he could fall asleep for a week. He smiled. "I'm going to enjoy ganking this one, dude. No, keep your arm still."

Sam stopped trying to pick up his right arm and looked down at the ice atop it. "My arm ok?"

"Doc says you wrenched the joint." Dean rolled his eyes. "That puts you outta digging graves for a couple weeks."

Sam smirked. "Awesome."

Dean watched his eyes start to close again and squeezed his shoulder. "Get some more sleep. I'm not goin' anywhere." He knew with all the blood Sam had lost, he'd be tired for days while his body recovered. He'd tried to talk the doc into giving his brother some of his own, but considering that Dean had already lost a fair amount himself, the doctor had wanted to avoid that unless it was absolutely necessary…by his definition, not Dean's.

Sam tried to fight sleep, wanting to stay awake, but it crept up on him so swiftly with Dean quietly urging him that he only managed a soft groan of protest before he was out again.

Dean waited a moment to make sure he was out and then stood. He tried to roll out his aching shoulders and headed for the living room, hearing Jim's footsteps upstairs as he was no doubt gidin-proofing the windows. It was nagging at him being unarmed, and he walked softly out into the living room, smiling when he saw the fireplace and the array of old, iron pokers next to it.

"Yahtzee," Dean said and went to it, pulling one of the pokers free. He gave it a swing and decided it would do then he headed for the kitchen. He wanted a few more things in the room with him before he'd feel safe enough to fall asleep. He dug through Jim's cabinets and found a container of salt then turned up a tin of lighter fluid under the sink.

"Matches are in the drawer over there."

Dean spun and swayed into the counter in surprise, raising the poker in warning. "Shit, Jim. Don't do that." It wasn't lost on him that that was the second time that day someone had come up behind him and he narrowed his eyes at the man.

"Whoa." Jim raised both hands in the air, seeing the dangerous look cross Dean's face. "It's still me, Dean." He nodded to a knife hanging on the wall at Dean's elbow. "That's solid silver right there. If you need to give me a nick, you go right ahead." He held out his arm peaceably because, right then, Dean looked ready to strike first and ask questions later. He knew the man before him was running now mostly on adrenaline and sheer force of will to even be standing, and a weakened Hunter, especially one with someone to protect, could be a very dangerous thing.

Dean considered it, told himself he was being paranoid, and then said 'screw it'. He pulled the knife off the wall and gave the doc a small smile as he pricked the skin of his arm. He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until he let it out, and he gave a startled laugh when Jim pulled the salt shaker off the counter and shook a little into his palm then licked it off. "Ok, ok. I get it. I need to relax a little." Dean set the knife on the counter and ran a hand through his hair. "Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Jim shook his head and smiled. "You ready to get in that bed and stay there yet?"

"Yeah." Dean went past him to the hall.

"I'll bring you the matches." Jim called with a chuckle. "Hunters."

Dean rolled his eyes at himself and saw Sam was still sound asleep as he came back in the room. He set the salt down on the table and lay down, rolling on his side with the poker in one hand and the lighter fluid in the other so he was facing his brother. Dean gave a weary groan and closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to feel the deep ache in his chest. He didn't want to know how bad Sam had to be hurting. He heard the sound of a cabinet closing from the kitchen and then Jim's steps coming down the hall. He squeezed his fingers around the lighter fluid and the poker, knowing it made him look like a little like a paranoid lunatic and was too damn tired to care. Jim's footsteps stopped in the door.

"Just toss 'em on the bed, doc," Dean said sleepily. He jerked when he felt hands wrap around his ankles and opened his eyes to find the motel manager at the foot of his bed. He shouted as he was dragged off the bed and flung into the hall like a sack of potatoes.

"I wasn't finished," the gidin said in an angry voice as he stalked out after him.

Dean groaned and rolled to his side. He'd hit the wall hard enough to make him dizzy and knock the air out of him. "How…d'you get in? Son of a bitch." He groaned and swung out with the poker he still had hold of, but the manager danced nimbly out of reach.

"You won't be getting lucky again." The manager snarled. He stomped down on Dean's hand, drawing a pained curse from him, and grinding his heel until the poker clattered to the wood floor, and then delivered a hard kick to his head. He smiled as Dean went limp on the floor and turned to the bedroom. "Now, then. Where was I?" He stalked into the room past Dean's bed to stand over Sam's long form and smiled. He reached out hungrily, pulling the bandage from the man's neck to bare the wound he'd given him, disappointed that it had been sewn closed and then smiled. He'd just have to start somewhere else. The gidin leaned over the bed and gasped in shock when his prey's eyes flew open.

Sam erupted up out of the bed in contained fury to slam into the manager and drive him to the floor. Dean's shout had woken him in a rush. Sam scrambled to his feet again and held out both hands, one holding the salt and the other the lighter fluid he'd grabbed from Dean's bed while the creature was in the hall. He poured both down on the gidin, covering him in a mixture of the two, the lighter fluid allowing the salt to stick him. He grunted when the manager kicked out and swept Sam's legs. He crashed to the floor with a strangled cry of pain and tried to make his body move again.

The gidin rose over Sam in a rage, no longer amused. "I was going to kill you before I ate you. Now…now I'm going to listen to you scream."

"Not in my house, you son of a bitch!" Jim staggered into the door, blood pouring down his face and held out a Zippo. He flicked the wheel and tossed the flame into the manager's chest. He lit like he was made of kindling. Fire burst into life and crackled up and down his body as he screamed. Jim cleared the door, spun and delivered a roundhouse kick into the creature's chest that sent him flying through the window behind him with a crash and out onto the lawn to burn. He sagged over the end of Dean's bed and wiped a hand down his face, grimacing at the blood. "Damn."

"What the hell?"

The startled voice from outside brought Jim to the window at a run and then he laughed seeing Bobby Singer standing over the burning and still screaming body of the gidin. "About damn time, Singer! Get in here! I can't pick these boys up alone."

"Pick them up?" Bobby glared at him and moved to look in the window. His eyes widened in shock seeing Sam groaning on the floor in the room and Dean's legs in the hall, and he glared at his friend. "What part of 'keep them safe' didn't translate for you, Jim?"

"Don't you pop off at me, Singer!" Jim bent and picked up the can of lighter fluid. He handed it out. "Put a little more fuel on the fire and get in here." He turned his back on the sputtering Hunter and knelt beside the younger Winchester. "Sam?"

"Dean…check…check, Dean. Please," Sam begged in a soft voice. It was all he could manage through the fresh pain.

"Alright. Alright. Just lie still. I'll be right back." He laid a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder and went out into the hall while he wiped more blood from his face, wincing at what would soon be a world class headache. He knelt next to Dean and turned his head slightly, sighing at the blood seeping from a wound high on his forehead. "Do you ever do anything easy?" He rolled Dean carefully over and was debating his ability to carry him when Bobby burst in through the front door and ran to them.

"Dean! Is he…"

"Alive." Jim assured him quickly. "Looks like he got kicked in the head. Can you get him up, gently, mind, and put him in bed?" He raised a brow at the thunderous look on Bobby's face, the man clearly reacting no better to the boys being hurt than Dean had to Sam being in pain. "Or do you need a hand? I really need to check Sam over."

"Go. I can get him." Bobby waved him off and knelt beside Dean, resting a hand over his bandaged chest. "Dammit, son," He said softly and shook his head. Bobby took Dean's arms and pulled until he had him sitting. He put a hand to the boy's face and slapped him lightly. "Dean. Get your ass up already and don't make me carry you." He smirked as Dean, even unconscious, responded to his voice and the tone and moaned softly. "That's it, son."

Dean groaned and frowned, hearing Bobby's voice, that tone of voice that had always meant he'd get a slap to the head if he didn't listen. It was so ingrained in him, Dean fought to get his eyes open and focused blearily on the face in front of him. "Bobby?"

"Well, it ain't Santa Claus." Bobby smiled with relief. "Gotta get you up and back in that bed. You do that?"

Dean nodded, still dazed, and then his head cleared. He jerked hard and would have lunged to his feet if not for Bobby's tight hold of him. "Sam!"

"Easy! Calm down! Doc's got him," Bobby held on to Dean's shoulders until frightened eyes met his and finally started to calm. "And yer' gidin is roastin' on the lawn outside."

Dean's head dropped forward in abject relief, but he still struggled to get up. "Need to see him. He hurt?"

"Stubborn…pig-headed…dammit, Dean. Hang on!" Bobby grumbled and got him on his feet, staggering as Dean tried to walk and his legs refused, nearly dropping him to the floor again. "Would you just…dammit." Bobby pulled his arm over his shoulders and hitched him up, half-dragging him into the bedroom where Jim still knelt over Sam who was still curled around his stomach on the floor.

"Sammy." Dean felt a jolt of fear go through him with his brother on the floor. "What'd he do to him this time? God…" Dean swallowed hard. "Did he bite him again?"

Jim looked up with a small smile of relief. "No. Sam took him down." He shook his head. "Damn thing almost knocked me cold when it came in the back door." Jim ran a hand through his hair sheepishly. "It was the last door, I was just about to paint the sigils on it when it jumped me. I managed to get up and came down the hall, saw you on the floor and thought for sure Sam would be…" He broke off and smiled. "…but Sam got off that bed, hosed him down with salt and lighter fluid and then I torched his happy ass."

Dean stared, taking in Jim's blood streaked face and his brother and felt a burst of fresh pride for the kid. "That's my boy." He let Bobby ease him over to the bed and sat on the side. "He's ok, right? Sammy?"

"M'ere," Sam mumbled but couldn't do more. He was in too much pain. His crash into the floor had jarred some of his wounds back open, not to mention slamming his already bad elbow when he landed. He was still trying to get his breathing back under control and in no big hurry to move.

Dean blew out a breath, feeling a little better hearing Sam's voice and the relief made him light-headed while pain he'd momentarily forgotten speared through his skull. "Shit." He groaned and dropped his head into his hand.

"Alright, lay down already." Bobby gave Dean a gentle push, easing his head down to the pillow. "You good for a minute so I can help the doc get your overgrown brother off the floor?" Dean gave him a small nod and Bobby patted his shoulder. He turned and knelt on Sam's other side, sliding a hand over the top of his head into his hair and grimacing at the state of him. He'd known the boy almost his whole life and could see how much pain he was trying to manage in the light shudder that ran continuously through his long body.

"Hey, Sam," Bobby said softly and leaned down to get a better look at his pale face. "Can't stand up, can ya?"

Sam was close to sobbing in relief after hearing Dean's voice and now Bobby's, laden with care, so close. When the gidin had returned to the room and he had seen Dean lying motionless in the hall, he'd been sure…he shuddered a breath in and out, pushing that particular thought aside, and shook his head. "C…can't."

"Ok. Don't worry about it. We gotcha." Bobby ran his hand over Sam's hair one more time, knowing how it soothed him as a kid and looked up at Jim. "You get his feet."

"Nice and slow," Jim nodded and wrapped his arms around Sam's legs at the knee, letting Bobby pull his head and shoulders in. They both grunted with the effort of lifting him, groaning under the strain, and managed to get Sam back into his bed with only a few muffled cries of pain. Jim groaned, lifting his left arm to look at the small amount of blood that had flowed there. "Tore out his IV." He ran his fingers in a whisper-light touch over Sam's right arm and the elbow that had him worried before; now he felt it more. It had been a light sprain. Now he could tell Sam was lucky if it wasn't completely out of joint. "I want him out before we fix any of this."

"N…no," Sam argued suddenly, voice rising only barely above a whisper. "I can…it's ok."

"Shut up, Sam." Came in unison from both Bobby and Dean.

Jim laughed and held the boy's shoulder for a moment. "I think you've been overruled. Best do what they say."

Sam gave up without a fight, too wounded and too exhausted to object, and he welcomed the pinch of the needle, or maybe it was the IV in his arm again, before his head did one big spin and he fell blissfully asleep.

"How is he really?" Dean asked after spending ten minutes watching Jim put fresh stitches in Sam's stomach and was now in the process of wrapping a bandage around his brother's elbow.

"Not much worse off. Not really." Jim laid Sam's arm down and replaced the pack of ice atop it, hoping to stall the swelling and have a better shot of popping it back in place. He'd tried already but the tissues were too swollen to allow the movement. "I'll have to pop his elbow back into place in an hour or so once I get the swelling down some, but he'll be alright." He ran a hand along the fresh IV line Bobby had placed and looked over the heart rate monitor and its steady, if slightly fast beep.

Dean stared over at Sam's dark head that, even in drugged sleep, was rolled in his direction and sighed. "Bobby?" He asked and looked up at the older Hunter.

"Get some sleep, Dean." Bobby squeezed his shoulder. "I ain't goin' anywhere. I'll keep him safe."

Dean nodded and closed his eyes, finally feeling like he could rest, at least for a little while. "Gotta watch him," Dean mumbled as he started to drift off. "Drugs're gonna…gon' make him listen."

Bobby frowned and then his eyes widened as he looked over at Sam. "I'll take care of him, son."

Jim saw the look of sadness that came over Bobby's face and it was near heartbreaking. "Bobby, what…"

"You got a beer?" Bobby asked suddenly. "Better yet, whiskey."

"I…yeah, alright." Jim shrugged and left the room with Bobby behind him.

"First off, there ain't a damn thing you can do for the boy medically." Bobby started, wanting to make sure that Sam wasn't going to find himself being poked and prodded for medical curiosity over something that science couldn't fix. That was the last thing he needed. "Also, if you ever get the urge to just say thanks to that boy for no reason, you go ahead and do it."

"Bobby, what the hell are you ramblin' on about?" Jim fixed him with a stern gaze in the kitchen and groaned at the sight of his broken in door. "Dammit." He pulled two beers out of his fridge and a whiskey bottle from the cabinet and then fixed him with a stern look. "Well?"

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

"It's been two days, Dean," Sam scowled at his brother. "I can get to the damn bathroom on my own."

Dean rolled his eyes and smirked. "You mean like this morning when you tried to hold on to the bed with the wrong arm and almost hit the floor?"

Sam grabbed his empty cup and threw it over at his brother in the door then held up his right arm, now wrapped in a sling that bound it across his chest. "Go away."

"Boys. Behave," Jim smirked as he came into the room behind Dean and looked at Sam on his feet again. "You alright, Sam?"

Sam scrubbed his good hand over his face in a bid for patience. Two days of being mother-henned by three people until he was close to screaming…he was going to kill someone. "I just…wanna pee. Is that ok?"

Jim raised a brow at the long-suffering tone and wisely didn't tease him. "Of course it is. Dean, why you don't go grab some coffee so I can give Sam an exam when he's done?" He smiled but the look in his eyes was firm as he met Dean's. "He's not leaving here today until I do, which means neither are you."

Dean opened his mouth to argue and then heard Bobby's heavy step on the stairs. He closed his mouth and flung his hands up. "Fine."

Sam smirked as his brother grumbled down the hall and realized the last couple days probably hadn't been a picnic for him either. He sighed and went for the bathroom again. "No, I don't need help."

"Didn't think you did," Jim said.

Sam looked at his easy smile and raised a brow before going in and closing the door. He almost turned the shower on, wanting to be clean but knew that someone, likely Dean, would be pushing the door in and asking what the hell he was thinking. Sam snorted, flushed, and ran his hand under the tap before going back out. "I feel a lot better now, Jim. Really."

"As you should," Jim stood beside him while Sam got back up on the bed and grinned. "I am, after all, a damn good doctor."

"And humble. Don't forget humble," Sam chuckled and laid back. "You're not gonna make me take my shirt off again are you?"

"No, you're good. Just relax." Jim chuckled. He couldn't help it. People as self-reliant as Hunters rarely took being cared for well. He tugged up Sam's shirt and gently peeled back the bandage over his stomach, smiling at Sam's slight hiss of discomfort. "Sorry." He pressed gingerly around the now well-healing wounds and smiled. "These are healing up nicely. Another day or so and you can leave the bandages off safely. Sit up?" He took Sam's good arm and helped him to sit, then pulled his shirt up in back to see the claw marks there. They were slightly further along and no longer the angry red they had been, nor, it seemed as tender to the touch as Sam made barely a twitch. Jim bent and got a good look at the bite mark on his neck, pressing carefully around and saw the flinch. "Still tender?" Sam nodded. "It will be for a while. That thing took a small portion of muscle along with the outer layer of skin." He patted Sam's shoulder and pulled his shirt back down. "It will get better. How's the arm?"

Sam sighed. "Still hurts, but it's ok."

Jim nodded and eased it out of the sling to take a look anyway. The swelling around his elbow was minimal now, and the joint had gone back in thankfully easy. "Work with this over the next few weeks. Use those exercises I showed you. You don't want to risk losing mobility."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Trust me. Dean won't let me forget to do them."

Jim chuckled and helped him get his arm back in the sling. He stood back and dropped a hand to Sam's shoulder again, just looking at him. He still had trouble reconciling everything Bobby had told him with the young man in front of him, but…he'd been present when Sam had woken the first time and seen the naked terror on his face as he stared at something only he could see, and he'd watched the way Bobby, normally so gruff and aloof, had held on to him and talked to Sam and done something with Sam's left hand that had drawn the boy's jittery gaze back from his own private hell with a sob of relief.

"Jim?" Sam asked, confused.

Jim shook himself and smiled. "Nothing. I think you boys can leave today if you promise to take Bobby with you." He smiled again at the amusement on Sam's face and went for the door, then stopped. He turned back, needing to say it. "Sam…thank you."

Sam stared, now truly lost. "For what?"

Jim ran a hand through his hair, face flushing a little and shrugged. "The rest of my life?" He grinned then as Sam's jaw dropped open in shock. "You come back and see me if you have any trouble. My door's always open for you boys."

Sam watched him leave and, for a moment, couldn't even breathe he was so stunned. He was staring at the floor when Dean came back in, and it took him a moment to realize he was being shaken and looked up into Dean's concerned eyes.

"Sammy? What's wrong? What'd he say?" Dean frowned when he saw the clear shine of tears in his brother's eyes that were just as quickly sniffed back.

"Nothing. He said…nothing. I'm good." Sam's voice was gravelly with emotion and he struggled to keep it in. "He said we can leave."

Dean studied him and knew Sam was lying to him, but whatever it was, it didn't seem bad. He slid a hand around the back of his brother's neck and squeezed. "You sure?"

The gesture from Dean, so normal and age-old, choked Sam up all over again and he just nodded, leaving Dean more confused than ever and not sure exactly what it was he needed to be concerned about.

"Ah, hell. I told him I wanted to be here if he did," Bobby said as he came in the room and got a good look at Sam's face. He sighed and smiled, ignoring the suspicion on Dean's. "You were out and Sam was drugged. Jim needed to know what to look for. I told him."

"Told him what?" Dean demanded and then his eyes widened in understanding. He turned quickly back to his brother and sat facing him, taking his shoulders in a firm grasp. "Sammy?"

"He said thank you," Sam whispered, his voice barely audible.

Bobby nodded to himself and stepped back to the door. He cleared his throat. "'bout time someone did, you ask me."

Dean heard him walk away, glad that he had a moment alone to put his little brother back together. He crouched down in front of Sam, studying his face carefully. "You alright?"

Sam nodded again and swallowed hard. "Yeah. I just…I wasn't expecting that." Sam managed a small smile and rubbed his hand over his face. "I'm fine."

Dean ducked his head, cleared his throat and pulled his brother into a hug that surprised them both. "You did good, Sam." He told him gruffly and then set him back, surprised at the rush of gratitude he felt toward the man whose simple "thank you," to his brother meant more to him than anyone would ever know.

Sam brushed away the lone tear that escaped and smiled, knowing Dean didn't just mean with the gidin. "Thanks, Dean." He gave him a watery smile and cleared his throat. "Now, can we please get out of here?"

"Oh, hell yes!" Dean grinned and clapped him on the shoulder, proud beyond words of his brother and stood. "I need a damn burger and some pie!"

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_The End._


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